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
