sometimes the centre breaks, unravels

and then all things resist harmony

tending rather toward confusion, disunity and strife

and in vain, with my duct tape, a worn-out adhesive

I try and I try to put the centre back together

somehow.



the part I fix seems only a minor detail in all of the rubble.

It is always in vanity, all of it.

Now, when the centre breaks, I just let it.

I watch from afar, like a bemused spectator

who smiles with the better answer,

although it is nowhere to be found.



letting the centre break shifts my perspective;

a new centre, that is not the same, has not yet been broken.

it waits.



my role has changed from putting the pieces together

to breaking them all apart.



It is simply simpler to deconstruct.



however, I do miss the consistency, steadfastness

and arrogance of the centre.

herein lies the postmodern paradox:

to create or deconstruct? appollonia, dionysus?



how is it we choose one yet remember to resist the view

that they are all the same?


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