Ode to a puzzle piece shuffled under the rug

Ode to a puzzle piece shuffled under the rug

They say ignorance is bliss

Brother, you should try it.

I’d rather savor the taste of loathing

Seeped in spicy Hatred, tangy Loathing

Ah, savoring that revolting reminder

Sour sensation

Seared in another’s thought

as the inky center

of a pastel landscape;

the oil-paint reproduction

by David Winter

with the crack in time and space.

Instead of fading into obscurity

Rotting in the dust-flavored dark.

Time and fragile memory hastens

my end

No, my one satisfaction

is that I must not be seen

Forced imprisonment

under shaggy wool

promises the fragment

of memory

that one day I may be remembered

as a wonderful failure

when the picture is complete.

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