Jumbled letters on a page
with no apparent purpose
unless imperfectly rearranged.
The idealist discards too quickly
the assumed non-quintessential
via a filtered memory and selective hearing
birthing a limited view.
perfect imperfection,
lovingly unlovely.
Imagine being presented
a still shot of this very moment
which enraptured everyone and everything
in consequential motion.
This time in the now
would be but a small grain of sand,
a molecular minuscule,
in the ocean of jumbled letters on a page
with no apparent purpose
unless imperfectly rearranged.
~2012 Vaughn Wood
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