in my dream i floated on my back

down the hall in artistic flow

but my arms, outstretched, snagged

my hands caught complications 

open doors – side tracked inertia

i have to know when to pull my arms 

back to my side for my own benefit

sticks and stones

may break my bones

but your words have 

permeated my brain

and will haunt me for

the rest of my life

words spoken get lost

as if on a dead end 

street where remnants

tangle in chaotic mess

disembodied memories.

recorded thoughts 

don’t float away.

they become organized

concrete objects, their 

inherent value in their

mere existance. 

They represent life.

spitting out the words

that occupy my brain

space that needs air

to breathe deep refresh

renewed sense of order

vacuum the dust wipe

tear stains sanitize the

chaos open the window

to let in crisp new light