The Universe
The universe is like a wooden door.
Too many lines and swirls.
Can’t always be counted on.
Can be sanded down.
The universe is like a jean jacket.
That has patches.
Everything does.
I did too.
The universe is like the floor.
A hardwood floor.
Which gets dusty.
I live in an abandoned house.
It’s connected.
The door is wooden too.
The universe.
Encompasses.
2005.
I had just fallen off my bike.
Nothing much happened except a scrape.
Which healed.
A wooden door could never heal itself.
The universe.
It fell off its hinges.
One day.
And no one noticed.
Copyright © Angelica Tao | Year Posted 2025
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