tiny snatched
pockets of time
threaten to drown
an entire year
of words
and thoughts
and memories
of songs
and lists
and fantasies
so maybe
i'll let them.
I speak of things i feel, so primordial, that structured expression kills the essence. I speak of things i see. so easy to ignore, yet, so crucial I find release in the seeming disorder of my Poetry; the subtle signs i see.