Nonsense.

I have thrown out so many bags

for refuse of late, that countless

ideas of nonsense have become

obsolete, not worthy of being

in the same house anymore;

I must find a way to make room

for the hopeful flights of fancy

that are being conceived,

embryonic, shifting shapes

of butterflies, pinned down,

to grow into

the nonsense they desire to be.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018