Unfit For Purpose.


the breadth of her words and mind
make me wish I were a woman
but what a disappointment
I would be.
the soft soles of my bare feet
could never commune as hers
with wet leaves and insect decay.
yet I would paint my visage
with spider web and evening.
we plummeted, as mankind,
from the moment we supplanted
sense with reality.
my regret is that I was insufficient
for any purpose enunciated by she.

© James Sapsard 2013