the labrynthe of maize

a fragment of a broken toy — some piece awry & amiss

i'm sure it's hiding in the garish, glad regions of stupefied bliss

or back in the damp, dingy darkness 'round the abyss

somewhere obscure, someplace just a little bit dark

that's where that grey matter must be, that catalyst spark

the reason why i'm a little bit peculiar & far off the mark

mostly, the piece matters little to the larger scale whole

but sometimes, when i'm with the herd, that shard siphons a toll

maybe its name is called hate & we'll say it's like chalk

twisting in a labrynthe of empathic layers — a climbing corn stalk

it's the labrynthe of maize — that's where the shard stays

that's what we'll say & that's how we'll amaze

& we'll wow them 'til no one can tell that we're out of place