to put periods at the end


words buzz and spin in clouds of confused formation

wheeling and turning, penetrating all corners and crannies with all of their information

I can't make sense of the layers; when I go to get a hold, take a grasp, they slip and change

moldable, transformative; not held down by any mortal incantation.

but when I can release them, spilling into concise words, tidy graphite marks on a clean cream sheet

my pencil caressing each curve of every e and c and a like the hands of lovers entangled in sheets

the clamor slows, bringing with it closure; a solidifying of thought, ideas are brought back within graspable range

lines of print or cursive tie down and sudbue the  words, small extensions of the confused  parts in my head, dimming the fire to a more rational heat.




Guide that inspired this poem: 


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