Composed of
beautiful mistakes, blots black as pupils
folded and mirrored
into Rorschach patterns, where we
accidentally find shapes in the discord.
If only we could fold this satin square
of time into complex mazes and
unending reflections,
until all that is visible are the
identical inked dots where
the heat of the asphalt in June is nestled.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
Composed of
beautiful mistakes, blots black as pupils
folded and mirrored
into Rorschach patterns, where we
accidentally find shapes in the discord.
If only we could fold this satin square
of time into complex mazes and
unending reflections,
until all that is visible are the
identical inked dots where
the heat of the asphalt in June is nestled.
Request permission to use this poem