I search my cluttered desk,
my fragmented mind,
jotted on bits and twists
of once-white, dusty paper.
I feel a restless need
to reach into my head,
to shout, and demand
contact. The frenzy starts,
and the thinking,
the thinking…

(I hear winging,
Life is singing,
I arrive,
my soul alive.
Vision bringing
words are ringing,
I contrive
as I revive…)

Shaking shadowed rhymes
out of my mind, I peruse
precious titles, my cache
of treasures-to-be…
“Touching Keys With Insanity”
or “Split Myself”, no, no,
not today, something ethereal,
like “Depth Perception”,
“De Facto Ergo” or
“Time’s Paradox”…

(Savage dancing,
word enhancing,
see the fight
with great delight.
Shallow prancing,
much romancing,
into night
I must take flight…)

Straining to part
the curtain of myself,
insidious ridiculousness
sets into
mode of mood,
unraveling me in a flash,
an idea that once held
importance,
is now
obliquely moot.

(I feel churning,
ever burning,
thought withdrawn,
no more to spawn.
Time’s adjourning,
still I’m yearning,
joy is gone,
a darkened dawn…)

Erin Moen
4/24/04
Copyright 2003 ©