walk in a dream of your own making
pick up a pencil and read your lines
I am a vesselÂ
a vessel that holds within it many planets of time
they spin within the shell
words bumping into images
remnants of thoughts
lying like dust on every surface
the slightest movement from a leaf
can set everything in motion
time has no set place to tack itself
at some point its aroused
by an image, a word, or a place
we then find ourselves feverish
incoherent to the thoughts
perhaps its just enough
that we release them
onto paper, canvas, clay or metal
then we can sleep again
Widowed Without A Manual 