---

William Matthews - Minuscule Things
Work rating: Low

There’s a crack in this glass so fine we can’t see it, 
and in the blue eye of the candleflame’s needle 
there’s a dark fleck, a speck of imperfection 


that could contain, like a microchip, an epic 
treatise on beauty, except it’s in the eye of the beheld. 
And at the base of our glass there’s nothing 


so big as a tiny puddle, but an ooze, a viscous 
patina like liquefied tarnish. It’s like a text 
so short it consists only of the author’s signature, 


which has to stand, like the future, for what might 
have been: a novel, let’s say, thick with ambiguous life. 
Its hero forgets his goal as he nears it, so that it’s 


like rain evaporating in the very sight of parched 
Saharans on the desert floor. There, by chance, he meets 
a thirsty and beautiful woman. What a small world!
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.