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I draw you on my blank white paper, in dark charcoal. How do I define you?  Looking at your form we all know somehow you aren’t  defined by the lack of quantity that you represent.

You are roundness,

the perfection of the circle,

that which is before the first,

the cause behind the first cause,

the true beginning of thought.

Categories: Poetry
  1. June 4, 2010 at 5:28 am

    This is lovely. I like the idea of the artist drawing the circle on the blank, white paper. The imperfect person, drawing a (probably) imperfect circle, that is still somehow perfect. I need to get some sleep; I hope I’m articulating what I’m thinking in my head–a least a little bit. Great stuff!

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