Shattered Pile of Glass

A shattered pile

of clear glass,

all jagged edges

and painted arms.


Each person


to hold it tight,

each person,

tried to juvenate

their vision.


Looking down at my hands,

I see red

and am blue,

like the veins

in an anatomical drawing.


My painted arms

lie with the rest

in that pile

of clear glass.

My painted arms

were my tint.


Every tint

lies atop the other

in the pile.


As the clear glass,

melts into water


The tinted glass


into opaque blackness.

There is no vision



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