Ten years later and time still folds in on itself
Like one of those paper fortune-telling toys from elementary
School that I never learned the name of. It folds in to echo
His father, flap flap losses, flap flap strongheadedness,
flap flap you'll marry someone from math class, a sense of blame
From so many angles that I'm
Not sure what any of it means. I'm not sure there is blame
That you can pinpoint and not sure that there isn't.
It's a reminder of my bias towards moral oversights
That change my own fortunes for the better. We can be blindfolded
Willingly and still know the truth, everything folding into itself
Like warm cake batter in a pan that shows the folds, then, eventually,
Just becomes an amorphous blob that you'll consume with friends or whoever is around.
I'm going to try and write a poem, dumb or not, each day on a random person. A person of the day. These are unedited and posted right after being written. Oh, and I'm not trying to be mean to anyone either, because that would make this easier.
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