Untitled

This wound on my finger tip
from a serrated miss
heals inexorably.
The smooth and printless
scar becomes
raised fresh skin print.

The mind wanders toward future
things in this way;
to become stretched between
that drawing appeal
and anchoring, woven
indelible marks,
the delicate etchings
and the careless rubble.

The next thing I build
will crumble in front of me.
The next thing I build
will be perfect and eternal.
They will all be mine and internal.
they will all be entered
into the unfireable canon.