What is there to say?
Who is there to blame?
I think constructs,
Eventually,
Construct themselves,
Into what?

Where am I to blame?
Why isn’t life the same
As old black and white movies?

I am not a construct,
I am a human being,
Being plagiarized
In eye blinks, shallows
And depths…

Where am I to blame,
Why isn’t life the same
As black and white continents?

I am not that
Which you mindfully think,
Nor any youth’s eternity,
I am unequaled,
Only because
Of my being.

How delicate a function
Is that?

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 7/21/06