Broken

Breaking like a twisted piece of bread

And it leaves crumbs all across the floor

When the woman comes to sweep it up,

Parts go under the thrash bin

Parts end up where they always been.

They scatter like tiny bread magnets

We're following them all around the room.

They get mixed up

And in between

The simplest things.

They ripple, cascading off furniture and walls

And fade when times goes by

And it is swift.

They swim, doormat intruders,

Black shoes they get stuck on,

Destroy them

And they try and un-stick

But those stubborn feet

Stick them more

But, soon as they flee,

Concrete freedom across the way

The wind catches them

And it never lets them go

And the bread? It stays broken

And never becomes whole.