Conversation

Sample of One

From
gut
to
brain
we
are
destined
to be
iconoclasts,
doomed to
the proposition
that
n=1.

We are rough-made
paper kites
at the end of
a slender string,
taut,
spirited,
and singing
to the wind.

Go ahead!
Hold
that
fate
tight
while you can!
The string
that cuts
into your hand
won't
last.

When it snaps
who will
fly away?
The still
iconoclast,
that sample
of
one
holding the string?
Or the kite
loosed
and drawn on
by the
spirited
wind?

Let
it
begin.

#smallpoems