M a t t e r


The first pitch is a foul
The second, so on and so
Forth…

A walk that doesn’t count
Not yet

This vague human program
Has lost its book and maybe
Its mark

The theory of home seems to
Suggest we need a team
To make it

One

But I’m a gypsy, and
He a finely carved
Mutation of individuality

So rare as to blend into society
Like air

How shall we breathe
Pitch and walk home
A team

When together
We
Are all of Matter?


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