Design

I circle the room three times

I would sleep but there is never

Sufficient reason.

Who would shoulder my burden?

The queer exasperated notes

That hitch in my throat

As if it were a sieve.

I gift riddles wherever I go.

 

An open mouth attracts scavengers

And I’ve died more times

Than there are stars to grieve.

The sky ought to be blank

But it never is, however, thick

The vestments sewn

To abdicate its features.

 

I am beautiful

The universe created me

And I could not be otherwise.

Even a mistake can provide

Sufficient impetus

For the evolutions that follow.

Who could look at me

And say that I am not as intended

When they are not even

Conscious of their own designs?