often, i do not have time to write the words down that surface in my head throughout the day. . . fleeting . .  they vanish .

when i have moments of unclouded thought, or seconds of something i wish i could say at that moment. grounded feelings of frivolous poetic words i never say. i am alone in this regard i suppose.

sitting in a box, skiin wet within from the rain outside, i grow cold, feet planted firmly on the moving ground speeding ahead many miles per hour i project myself left not wanting. i think of how better to express to you these moments, my lifetime of emotion, and thought. i sometimes imagine myself painting feelings that have no words, paintings I have only started in my mind. many paintings ill never get to. . .

I stand at the cellar door and knock for thee one day to answer.