I don't want to sit here all day
waiting for things to be broken;
because broken things can't fix
other broken things.
I can force my lips to curve upward
and make artificial sparkles in my eyes,
shine them in all directions except inward
where all longing springs and overflows
through pen and paper.
If I fold them into boats and lay them
on this free flowing river of daydreams
where will they go?
Will they eventually
unfold and sink and be torn
by the rocks that sleep under the surface,
causing eddys and whitewater that for some
are a source of genuine happiness?
Or will they reach the ocean where
everything that is good arises and
peace begins when the sun sets?