Affects on Vessels

The empty vessel
Floats within my cup
A glass half full or nearly
Empty I certainly cannot say
Nor can I care for the fly is dead.
Drowned.
Sucked under and held aloft
By tension, the root of which
Lays deep below the surface,
My period of mourning is short
The black is dawned only in theory
For then I must move on.
I have my glass to empty
Beyond all doubt and my feet to to place down.
Destroying animalia minutia in the process





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