Full of vim and vigor,
pleasure and pain,
caring and disdain.
cliche after cliche
applies
and i don’t care
what you think –
but i do care,
yet ultimately
my own being
asserts itself
unable to be
shy and recoiling.
what has that done for
me anyway?
broken glass
the fear of broken glass
the remaining shards
digging
unsuspectingly into my feet
there is always one
piece,
one small fragment,
a sliver
of solid matter
that will lurk
in the corner
waiting to strike.
well to hell
with that piece of glass
i say.
yes i loved the vessel.
it was my favorite
for a cocktail
i will miss its
body in my hand,
its delicacy
and strength.
no they don’t make
them that way
anymore
this
is why
it was precious.
i will honor
it
forever.

there
is
no such
thing
as a
small
life.

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