crumbled pieces of paper put away
not destroyed, just at a point of allay.

until i can catch up with tomorrow
i'll beg for words, steal or borrow.

if i have to to be zero-sum
with the wonderful universal hum.

where everything came from nothing
like the tiny rock in David's sling.

and yet i know that when passes today
tomorrow will bring me plenty to say.

crumbled pieces made real by reason,
left to languish until their season.

hope it's soon before root rot sets in
or my never-born words won't meet my pen.

08/08/2005