poem

to capture the sensation of a stone in time
wafting without realization, unconscious yet conscious of it,
adrift in change without fear,
yet lost, excited,
confused,
ordinary and helpless, but despite that undying belief,
desperately believing that not a word of it true,
that within the exceptionally ordinary there exists
something like a universe, or something of it,
all of us creating it, contributing to one another,
and yet angry for semantics, definition in discourse,
anchors, anchors, anchors intertwining unraveling and exploding out like
smudgy little steel balls on a cheap newton's cradle:
an arduous endeavor, and yet effortless,
full of self-doubt and self-loathing,
cathartic and fulfilling, daunting, ultimately empty, signifying nothing.