drafts

straight from my mind i write this,

cannot sort these discussions

cannot recognize these emotional concussions.

tired of rhyming and rhythm and commotion over nothing,

and meaningless touches of long ago problems that come back

to take me over again.

ill keep this here until i have something worthwhile to say–

for me right now it’s these images these lights,

the ideas that make loose feeling’s tight,

i’m stuck staring away, leaking this passion out little by little,

feeling myself decay,–

the snow is heavy, weighs down the bamboo, crushes the branches that contrast with the blue

sky and the air is weightless, and the birds still fly. but we cannot be as free as the birds without the weight lifted.

we cannot achieve liberation with the cold feezing the ice, stopping time, and temporary joy has drifted

away before and still and after the snow drowns out the–

drafts i have written are no longer sitting,

short breaths and too many thoughts clutter the mind, melt down the heart.

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