adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, March 08, 2015

Chips, a poem

Chips

I knock these little pieces
from the infinite
and try to assemble them
into something that

might make sense,
should make sense.

Spread them on the table,
take another look —
too much is missing, still.
I shall chip anew

at eternity
tomorrow.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

Just barely more than a throwaway but at least I'm writing a little poetry occasionally. Actually jotting down bits of verse in my notes that might one day appear in another novel, as in the Donzalo books. Maybe a sequel (or sequels) to those?

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