There’s a cereal box,
pink cereal box.
Sitting in the corner, where I put my shoes,
and it is demanding nothing out of space.
It has gone to the corner
to be there with the abundance.
I can’t be like it ever, that’s my truth
but in my reality, everyday I stay like it
in confinement,
between the walls of my thick pretensions.
Sometimes you can see people like dewdrops,
faint and abrupt in their expression of a sunny morning.
I see those people sometimes
and sometimes I see the same ambiguity in cereal boxes,
staying in the corner
like the feeling of a song
as a possibility of chaos
and for the failures that those have seen in me.

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Photograph: John Kosmopoulos.