Words

I detain them anxiously

at the border of my mouth

like nails to be hammered out

I commit small phrases to

hard labor within the bleak

Siberia of my heart...

I sense lines best beneath my

index whilst running over

my reflection at certain

sections of everybody

else's literary sweat...

words, segments, whole sentences

paragraphs, pages, chapters

parts, books, sequels, collectives

volumes; silent, or loud, this

"in the beginning," of it

at the edge of every thought

half forgotten genesis

it isn't easy

it isn't easy...

being a wordsmith.