Words tripped and tangled, teased at the edge of thought,
not knowing if they should fling themselves out and be seen,
and heard and known, because of the story they carried;
because of what they would say to others and reveal.

Instead they waited, in silent coil, rolled around my tongue,
reluctant to release, unwind, be laid straight upon the world,
devoid of shape and form; made vulnerable and bare;
gripping, ever more powerfully upon themselves; beware.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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