By Maggie McHale
Seven tiny pieces,
Circle the drain of my core
For they all have a place
Function as a matter of the heart
The pieces spin, like wheels on a hopeful wagon.
They could fit together,
If only they could adjust subatomic vibrations
Wreaking havoc in our reality
These particles, seven pieces meet
For better or for worse, they know they have merit
For these are the pieces
That when coming together,
Can break our world
Or renew our promises
Ambiguity is a cylinder
White Noise Zine 