An accidental poem

Each night (and each morning, and at several other times throughout the day), I sit down and write. I reflect on the past day, try to be appreciative of the present moment, and look ahead to the morrow.

Last night, after the first two lines, I realised I might have a poem on my hands, so I gave myself over to this idea and let it come. This is the first poem I’ve written in months.

I like it.

Let me know if you do (or not!).

 

Again I struggle for structure/direction.

Too much time at my discretion.

(Condemned to freedom - Sartre) 

Squeezing the life out: frantic brain, clutching hands.

This head of mine: a foreign land. 

 

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