An imperfect rush

An imperfect rush of word-like accidents trickle down this road
You care to caress this road or the word-like accidents or their imperfection?

How goes this night then which prepares the train of words, how urgent is
the flow, and does it matter to the sea if the droplet is on its way?

The sea is in need of some semblance
of imperfection
that breaks the flow of word-like accidents and hints at the possibility of a new droplet forming and making its way to the sea.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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