These Solid Things
These solid things that have form, these words that string together to become thought. These solid things live within, yet ask out loud ‘what if you were lost and didn’t know it?’ These symbols colored in their presence, with an array of hope, a wash of despair.
Did I get enough sleep, or is it I am dyed in the manner of my imagination? Sometimes unearthing a deep intensity of options.
The offspring of these things of solidity taking crumbs I left from my last thought and created future thoughts. These solid things which coin ideas and teach me there are no proper sequences of events that make a life; the act of living is not mapped, structured, does not surrender to distant things. These solid things of which I just became aware of, in their bustling, jostling, in some deeper part. These solid things.