the edges of myself

words, words, words

i don’t know what it looks like–

the view from over there.

don’t know if the landscape

has changed at all from your vantage point–

if these massive internal upheavals read

on the outside– subtle shifts across a skyline

that runs emotional and bleeds tempermental.


concerning myself with details, intangible

story-lines i narrate and expound upon–

their creation wholly mine– their

reality, my own making–

a confabulation

i’d love to set down.


giving ease to my over-worked brain–

its synapses firing overtime

trying to keep up with itself–

wanting nothing

save the simple truth–


details rooted in fact,

communicated out of love…

the ease of an undertaking

that feels like nothing

we’ve known before.


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