I feel as flawed as I rewrite, too long
Sometimes it seems again I am not now,
I am when. So I capture savant’s song,

To wind about my fingertip, my brow
Is flushed with whither-widths… Ha! I must laugh
In happenstance! So silly roots of how,

When stricken by a self-made somber calf.
Sometimes the hunger never ends, so ends
The why, of what continues to behalf.

It seems I lost my way again, though penned
And pinned upon my paper square. The gong
Has sounded way up there, if you pretend,

I guess I feel I am constantly wrong.
I feel as flawed as I rewrite; so long…


Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 1/27/12