if at first

RC deWinter


life’s become a misshapen ceramic
a crude abstract cast by an idiot
ugly to look at
hardly worth the shelf space of the universe

i inhabit the edges
carefully picking my way around
the unpredictable grains of misery
trapped in glaze infinitely chippable

stepping over cracks large and small
unhealed wounds hungry for the careless

if there was a god
he’d smash this farce on the sidewalk of heaven
and start again

back to the garden
with all its passions and temptations
to be entertained for eons
by an entirely new evolution

but that’s a fairytale written in blood
there’s no fixing this

when the great invisible humming has had enough
another chicxulub will hurtle across  the invisible
interweave of time and space fracturing what is
into fragments of what could be