can be like stapling a cloud to the concrete.
Foggy eyes and dewy fingers blur my ink,
and in my illegible smudging,
characters melt into amoebic organisms
that swim into the vast distances
behind and between the little blue lines
on my paper pad.
It's hard to stream of consciousness
when boulders fill the bed;
they may be limestone, easily disolved and shaped
into off kiltered monoliths,
but easy is relative to flow and time
No comments:
Post a Comment