This pen won’t move fast enough
Thoughts like strangers amassed at the small opening
Shuffling feet
The air is thick, hot
A carnival inside
Half spoken thoughts trampled by others and redigested , redirected
We can sing together. We can’t talk together. One at a time
This loaded box an anomaly of truths hidden in plain sight
Yet to the witness, a scattered mess
A scattered existence
Traces of me here and there, I think
There’s got to be a better way
