Wisps of incoherence seek refuge in
empty caldrons
new and untainted
free of scratches and dents
absent the scaring of rusty thought
A canvas awaits
ideas to be absorbed in permanence
someone else’s ideas anchor
the canvas to hold them as truths
for its life cycle
Empty spaces filled and
new track laid with followers held
to pre-determined paths
windblown sands hide remnants
of those who escaped the yoke
Wallowing in the information abyss
Children playing in alphabet soup
A splattering of letters mixes with
Never changing streams of thought
Slipping away before they congeal
Leaving nothing of value
In their wake
Half truths, no truths, twisted words
Purveyors grasping for pieces
Hoping a length of tape
Can hold these fragments as one
Long enough to garner
Admiration and respect
And then they are gone
Segments reappear with
Signs of wear as each attempted use
Peels the shine of potential
Brilliance from each letter and word
The newness gone
Admiration and respect wane
And players pray for a new batch
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