12 January 2008, 11:53 AM
I acknowledge all things made by human
hands contain poetry, no matter how rife
with violence, cloaked in ugliness, or hidden
in the depths of a hatred which seems to indicate
nothing beyond mindless bigotry, yet contains—
within chaotic rage, madness, shamefully perfunctory
patterns of self-perpetuating crimes against humanity—
a form of organic meaning,
some sense of relationship—
existence in reference to other.
Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith.