self portrait

I had hoped
to be an intellectual
to astound all
with my impressive grasp
of the French Revolution,
the Second Viennese School
and James Joyce

But I am a sieve
knowledge pouring through
pooling for a moment
then retreating
in a swirl
into the inner expanse
irretrievable

So, there’s nothing left to do
but peel the residue
translucent scraps
from the steely grate
and set the orphaned words,
swatches and staves
on the window sill to dry

I gather them
in the waning hours
reshape them
on scattered pages
to make meaning
and coax beauty
from the fragments

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