The centre cannot hold its widening gyre
the spiral thoughts that whirl and grit
To sit with consciousness,
It’s ebb and flow
The warp and weft
that stretches out a tearing net
That catches nothing.
Sifting only
The sand that makes the pearl.
Beauty, at what cost.
Believe someone
When they tell you about themselves.
I will never tell you about myself.
I am always telling you about myself.
