For whatever reason,
The words just won't come tonight.
And it's not even tonight,
It's this morning.
Do you see my difficulty?
Like a loop of clear glass
Ever moving
With nothing behind it
Or in front of it
Or above or beneath
And I cannot tell what color it is
Because it is clear
But that is not a color.
I am not even sure that exists, on its own.
Does it bother me
Or am I the bother?
Which way must I look at this
To see?
All of the ways seem
Intangible and entangled.
Nothing makes sense,
Anymore.
You are never bother.
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