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Yeah. It's the Running Flower.
I was doing something (can't remember what) and I came up with this.  I'm not sure about it.
From my half-destroyed room
on the third floor,
I can see the people passing
the stores on fourteenth street.
Most of these fish never
leave their bowls,
what can I do for them?
As I sit,
watching,
I glue my thoughts together
then unglue them,
change them.
This is my life,
the sum of my attempts
to break the glass
surrounding me,
surrounding all of us.
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Strange, and somewhat difficult to comprehend, but it sounds nice.
I usually don't like how poetry is these days, pretty much "I see flowers, lots of white and black" and everyone's like "Omg u r teh 端ber poem dood". What happened to rhymes.

But this one I liked. :P