They say you will forget it if you don’t write it down
My nights are swelling with dreams too soon forgotten
Moments too quickly passing
Leaves changing
Thoughts escaping into the dust of these old bones
In the pain of this creaking back
In the disgust of my inability to act
These dreams which enter and inspire
They are fleeting and impatient
They are children crying for attention
Turning in another direction once it is too late
Feel it
Pulse Pulse Pulse
Through the ink
Through the paint
Through these bones
Who only contact computer keys and cold coffee other wise