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.