smudge, upon smudge

the pen lifts
and draws a diagram
of who i thought we’d be
and who we are:

alas,
one month later
two towers stand
polarizing themselves
in the same building

one buzzing insect
moving awkwardly
with a darting motion
attempting
years later to determine
which is good
which is bad

you must be like giants
reaffirming
an ancient philosophy
that there is only charcoal area
and if gray should be
then grey should be
also.

• Category: Poetry