Sometimes the change is slow,
molecules shifting at a snails pace.

The constant, though agonizing tedium
of structural alteration so miniscule
as to be inperceptible to others.

But I noticed. The slight reconfiguration
of self, and disturbed, I stopped the flow
changed the slow to nonexistent, and now
I'm stuck in flux, wondering what the ****
with no words to place in mid-argument.

Continuance is inevitable, in the shallow,
to break up the fallow, ground, but I do it
half-heartedly, and don't give a damn
for the ritualistic sham that takes place
in space surround. In lack of profound
you've increased my ennui tenfold.

WhiteRose 12/18/02