This Hungry Beast

I feel compelled to give voice

To the riotous jumble in my head,

Bring order to the chaos that rages

Between the moment of thought

And the moment of action.

So I tell stories , , , or I don’t.

I tell them to organize what I am thinking,

Impose a little sanity , , , or not.

I tell them in short machine-gun bursts

Of prose that aspires to be un-rhymed poetry

Un-metered verse , , , but isn’t

Thoughts, words, and phrases

Appear in startled headlights,

Sending me scurrying for dictionary or thesaurus.

No rhyme and little in the way of meter,

An occasional smattering of rhythm to warrant

The inclusion of this piece, or that,

In some future collection that might be studied

By first year upper-school students

Restless to be gone

In some future time , , , or not.

Not long enough to be called novellas

And most too long to be labelled Haiku,

They ramble on whatever catches my fancy

Or I think might speak to your’s , , , but doesn’t.

This hungry beast that is my Palimpsest

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