Poem-A-Day: Day 239

Afterthought, Math

Thoughts explode through the skin
like shrapnel;
tiny bits of greener pastures,
metal, tearing moments
and measures of clarity away
as they travel far faster
than human capabilities seem.

The shrapnel screams
with possibilities and passing abilities,
transpiring against the expiration dates
of good ideas,
bad ideas,
and the idea of having them in the first place,
which, coincidentally, always seems to be in last.