Dots and Zots, and My Final Youth

by Min Kim

I walked in, and I encountered a pile of dots and
dots everywhere, and I thought them linked and
knotted up together, upon my touches and
quilting, thought to be an original, particular
sophistication. I expected them to stay longer, firmer, and
prettier toward me, toward us, and every single
decision that I made in beliefs of stepping forward.

A few days later, I found a few years had passed.
Dots and dots, they were still joining tightly but
they were ugly in flat composition. I believed in
for-ever oftener than I was believed to be
innocent in a simple calendar. Dots were getting blacker but
vaguer, and I could not even reach them. Shattered all around,
they were under the history, under the unnamed days ago.

Believing I would become a neat composer somehow,
I go inside again, searching for dots left.
For any kind of possibility, and any piece of undestroyed
Youth. I promise to make them collated again, against
my will, my agility, and my upcoming failures.

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