And I
Like some kind of a tragic angel
Am spiraling downward again
So when you look at me
Know
That what you see
Is not intact
A piece of art, though abstract
Retains a certain beauty
Does it not?
How often though
This particular piece of work
Is grossly misunderstood
I had a dream
And it carried me
But now that dream is gone
Circling, circling and thrashing about
In the air am I
In this blackness
I have no one
I have nothing
To hold onto
I fall
I am weightless
I am the universe itself