i have note books all over the house,
and pens, and pencils, and markers,
and sticky notes, and highlighters;
and still i fail to write things down,
forget things before they can be captured,
lose the words, the notes, the momentum,
the dreams, the meanings.
some things are meant to be lost; to be found
only in the ether, free from paper.
the liquid loop continues to run
through my mind,
changing with the wind,
with the tide:
elusive little bitch,
she takes me for a ride.
it won’t stop until i die.