I am the wasted ink
of a midafternoon doodle,
hoping for a frame,
but destined for the junkyard universe.
Maybe I’ll burrow into some garbage bag galaxies,
or hermit crab my way into a coffee cup.
Or maybe the wind will pick me up
and throw me into a group of the other wrinkled doodles—
huddling around a furnace,
until we paint ourselves
onto the underbelly of a cloud
crawling over the sunset.
The revolution of an unwanted cult.
©2012 This work is the property of the author.