Nothing for you to skim, scoff, talk at
but pale fliers on the board, abandoned by the door
long alphabet lines, stacked into tiles
high above my head, my mind, my reach;
but I am the measure, the file, tile, line
that makes every mark appear darker,
more there than I
who is translucent, pale on the waters
peering into the world, less real than I
Ugly Child Blog 