Posted by: Postordinandy | August 25, 2012

Best Fit

The question in a place of statements,
Seeking the beyond of the edge.

Verb, not noun,
Motion in the dna,
tension in the status quo

Liquid held in a flat tray,
Too fluid to be balanced,
Designed to spill.

The discordant note,
Which, in good time,
May yet become the rhythmic hook.

The piece of grit,
Part-digested by the mollusc
Slowly and painfully turning to pearl.

The gift of not fitting in.
The curse of it, the blessing.

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