While negotiating comfort

on a squeaky recliner, a tiny

rubik's cube solved solidity

in a forgetful pocket.

With its insistent dimensions,

paradoxically driving color

toward isolation.

As if to challenge egoic

alignment, itself a sentimental

unit that was part of a garage's

purgative wave.

Having been mindlessly

salvaged from what survived.

Nervously pawed & identified

by a poet who was contemplating

the nature of hatred.

The real thing, the sort emotion

doesn't know what to do with.

Just as a tiny rubik's cube was

rediscovered in a forgotten pocket,

arrogantly insinuating.

Hereby charmed & burdened

with hatred.

Let it house & astonish hatred with

the speed of off-color assemblage.