I don’t know how I ever came this way.
Found this terrible cold.
It’s like being somewhere
you don’t want to be.
That’s how it is when you have a cold.
When you realize you’re paper
and not stone.
When the pieces of you come apart in rain.
A spark sends you up in fire.
Because to every force that ever was
you’re just a spit ball.
Something the world can take apart
and see how you work.
Like the victim of a child’s curiosity.
What makes the wing fly?
Whoops!
There goes the wing!
So being paper is not a long-term affair.
And being mad about it
is not practical.
I have often wondered
why spider webs
are as beautiful as they are.
And I think
maybe to catch something,
so everything has a purpose.
Am I to catch the world in my heart?
Is that why I was made?
Something to think about
when you have a cold.