blink at air



I try to think of you

try to be philosophic

but it just comes off as

white noise

the background filter Iíve always used,

counted on, turns out

to be not here

my thoughts and conversations now I realize

really no different from the

attractive white strips bleed out of paper shredders I

wish to grasp or peruse them

my eyes wandering their length, guess

if I should try to glue them all together?

parts and pieces

all thatís left in the bothered fragments inside me

you in your various ages

and now not