the sieve and the sand

strings of thoughts and things
i stand and grab by bag by an arm
strap as it lacks a handle and i have
to bundle it in my hand to keep it
from scraping the ground as we walk
because i’m too tired to go on sitting and
we talk about philosophy, theology,
life, and trees and the things you used
to make people do because you thought
it best but have since learned that while
sometimes it was really quite beneficial
it turns out most of the time you were
beating your head against the wall
uselessly discovering the texture therein
through repeated brief bouts of contact
with your now bloody forehead

i’m glad we’re standing now
i was so tired just one moment ago