writing on auto-pilot,
flying on a wing and a prayer.
words flow like water here,
once they start, they stop making sense.
just observe the clitter–clatter of my key board keys,
on my broken -down lap-top
right here in front of me…
do I even try to string together,
sentences like pearls or strands
of fabulous, fantastic beads.
This garnish of the random-
word-parsley on my plate.
Writing on automatic, it’s so hard-
to articulate. A feeling. or a Moment..
I grasp this beaded necklace-
of my words, and dangle them dancing
by and by
yet they fall silent
I gasp aloud at my reflection.