writing done in the dark
that you can barely decipher in daylight.
lines crawling diagonally up the page
and colliding with each other
as if blindfolded and spun by the shoulders.
squashed and crooked letters,
unfinished thoughts
snaking out of control
pell mell and gung ho
as dodgems at the fair.
words escaping the edges of the paper
rivulets of spilled ink
or runaway trains in old
grey TV westerns.
ideas that crowd your head
and will not be denied:
clamouring like vendors at the rialto
robustly proclaiming their wares:
make it mine, make it mine,
make it mine.
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