This poem is a small tale of serendipity where even the small stub of a toe could lead to large discovery, and weather this discovery turns out to be a blessing or a curse may also deep end on serendipity.
The Stub
He wondered
Round the desert
Fore what could have been
A madder of daze
Or forty years
Stubbing his toe
On what
Turns out
To be
The top of some won’s world
A pyramid
Of time in memorial
A vocation to some
A vacation to others
In far aweigh lands
From dust to dust
A ticket too
The wresting spot
Of dead gods
Unearth
The mother of awe mummies
Famously on display
In museums
Hereafter leaving us breathless
Having lost site
Grace fully unaware
Of a mirror stub of our former footing
That effortless healing
Of that unassuming god
Somehow taken
For granite
That big tow
Buy past
Bye small oblivions
Until wee too are bared
Inquest to be made
Hole
