Nomad Writer

I free fall through this
Chromatic haze of lexical chaos
A rush of syllabic dissonance
Thunders past my ears
Gravity fiercely sucks me down
To the sprawling bleached white plains
Where I implode
In a black and blue eruption
Of tortured ink

I dissolve into the thin blue valleys
Of my paper earth
The essence of all I am
Entombed in these words
Modest murmurs
Without eloquence
Without order

Sometimes its best
To shed the royal robes
Of poetic grace
Let me show you this unruly side
My clumsy stride
Because most times
It’s all I have