at your invisible feet i offer this set
of bones of this body, mind and soul
this disjointed person, myself, like a poem
incomplete, un-poetic with rhythm
evaporated like the dew drop
on the tropical wild grassland
refuse not this inconvenient offering
unsystematic in its playing
of that flute, emptiness, the mysterious
hollow in the middle i missed control
with my licking the edge, the solid
casing that shone and my spirit misled
© henry victor
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