Catalogue of lives,

Rows of souls

Inked on tiny little tags.

How many stories are here?

A hundred?

A thousand?

How do they spread out

And fracture off like spiderwebs.

Are there lovers and enemies here?

Are some tags soaked with tears,

And others just with alcohol?

I used to feel small,

Now I know I’m small.

One day all that’s pertinent

Will fit in a drawer

The size of my thumb.

– Vagabond Prophet