When I attempt to tell my side of the story my end

of the stick swinging loudly strongly all bluster

and meaning…only (it seems I know) when I try

to tell my story; I stumble on words ideas feelings

People laugh make jokes move the ball toward a

different goal line while I stare and talk with drive

with stern direction toward my point my didactical

effigy of thoughts on life living and motion

I should lighten up should settle down should take

it easy; I talk too deep, they say, words scraping the

bottom of understanding casting shadows of doubt

of swirling philosophy left damp and piled up

There is no stopping—though—no waypoint on this

long arc to awareness I must I will I have to wander

toward the end knowing there is no end and never

will be never can be while it gets easy and difficult

I write words that mean something (to me) hopefully

others more likely (me) but I try to tell my story…try

to spread ideas meaning feelings felt deep on the

surface inside I tell them the way I tell them

I don’t stop I mean them I feel them they are real

words real ideas going toward a place felt seen

known without knowing; never been but have a map

a picture all done inside in my eyes ears…now.