the handwriting lies sprawled upon the page,
not even smeared,
but simply, completely unreadable
How am I expected to return to these
convoluted dreamy thoughts and emotions
when the opportunity for self-manipulation
of my subconscious silently lingers?
For this text holds secrets,
expectations and extremities of the land of my curious,
befuddled dream state,
an entry into what may have been performed and experienced,
on and on,
perhaps in a flurry,
fingers and toes dance,
and truth be told the taut ribbon of thought
could speak of so much here.
Purely out of curiosity do I wish to seek
and immerse myself into the opposite of
a doctor’s chicken-like scrawl,
my flamboyant, frantic loops which speak:
Connect with my words,
Relive my wholeness
And only then will everything apparent come to life,
microcosmic and magnetic,
an assessment of every early waking morning
worth detailing, speaking or somehow
Will this illegible privacy be exploited?
My early morning words snatched from my fingers
before the page feels its tickles,
revealed to all?
Perhaps, no, sir, no,
none, maybe not even I,
will possess anything more
than the power within my bleary eyes,
which know exactly what has
or has not been written,
the looped ink spots detail nothing more than
obscure, primitive art.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
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