Craving – Poetry by Will

Still, unmarred, nothing spoils the tension of its surface; no disturbance in graceful spreading waves, no waterbugs to dance, entrance, engage the eye, no underneath, no rules exactly scribed to guide the cutting shears;

Perfect in shape and thickness, intended as a tool, aged in desperate need, useless as a fool;

Spilled upon its surface then, in circles, cuts, and symbols, springs from mind, craving-driven output, oxygen to our kind.

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