the mind has loose

windows that young ideas

crawl through into

darkness and i cannot

find them again though

i stumble along the familiar

path in blind circles and figure

eights with my hands in

front to snatch the

words from thin air, grasping

for the hidden staircase they

took up between two

blankets of clouds dripping

with the brights of sun

shine and softs of moon

beams drowning my

words in their throaty

screams with every vowel

and consonant bursting into


someday i will take some

angel's wings and remember

all those words i lost.