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
Vagabond Prophet 