formless form feeling full and frozen
ground under me and shoveling it over
to darken, bring warmth and support
the privacy of my own germination.
all i want is to receive.
i realize how important sleep is.
going. going. going. time’s gone.
cant catch up.
miss understandings. miss understood.
memories behind me always.
chapters unearthed in the winter.
all i can think about is, a-year-ago-i-was…
miss believing. miss trusting.
in purpose. purposely.
all the nourishment around me i could possibly need.
the illusion that its more pleasant living with active
fortitude of direction towards “the” radiant sunshiny life
pisses me off.
All this work, work, work
to fit in my work, work, work.
Works of heart.
Works of play.
Works of m one y.
Works of constantly cooking and cleaning.
Works of waiting.
Works of finding words.
I am tired
and fully vital.
This isn’t going anywhere it isn’t already.
A merry-go-round, a topsy-turvy fun-house.
A preverbal sighhh…
just found form, formless, fully frozen
in these letters here together.
Words ring true.
Poetry keeps me free.
I prefer the keeping something for myself, in my heart’s treasure box.
Occasionally I reveal more. But writing like this, and even publishing it publicly, is a exercise in vulnerability and creative free-writing.
Knowing that I do not want to share details, yet I do wish to let my feeling-tone through, is a nice perimeter to that which ends up creating itself. Much like Twitter’s rule of 140 characters per tweet. Which is one reason I like it. You have to re-evaluate the nonsense you feel like sharing randomly. Brilliant.
Of course, the one down-side to not fully disclosing my intentions or meaning is that it allows readers to interpret and perceive at will. Granted this always happens to a relative degree regardless.
That is all.