Again I awake
To the rattle
Of words
around my head.
As part of my brain
Begins to fail
functions slow.
Ideas grow wild
Like weeds in cracks
Along the lane
Bump and jostle
For a place,
A kind of platonic
Land of forms,
A lingua malleate
Which flows
Until it cools,
Sets into a shape
Upon the page
And rests
Just here.
JL 17 Oct 2011
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