Wadded Up
Crumble you up
Like a mistaken sheet in a sketch book,
Drain its wayward color from my life
To puddled hues
On the floor,
Toss the wad to the heap
Of misguided lines and realities,
What I want and what is there
Don’t meet in the width of pencil lines,
Perspective a-kilter-ed,
not meeting the horizon line,
Not even a study in abstraction
But a distillation of the red of the heart
Seeping into the fibers of the paper
Rendering it failed and destroyed
And utterly useless
Except as filler in a hole.