The End, though not quite the way the end is typically thought to be, while still being an end of some sorts.

'Tis the end of the semester and I have of course been frantically trying to finish projects and papers at the absolute last second. It has been quite a lot of work, but the good thing is that I've had to revise all my poems, which means I can re-post them here and get two posts for the price of one poem. So, then, in the next few posts are the select few that aren't crap, in their new and (hopefully) superior states. This post is completely worthless, no?

(insert title here)

Open wider inside the day,
paperclip inside colored sky.
So I, a paperclip bag,
shining on black mirror asphalt,
on road fields as mistakes come around.

I, body in desert, sunpicked, outside
the tapes of some television.
Home, key out,
until space pushes into reach.

As you can see, the poem is essentially the same; turns out it sounds better backwards. I'm not sure what to call it, though. It also feels unfinished--there is a new direction emerging, all I have to do is figure out where it wants to go. I think it wants to stay on the road...