Can I force these words to flow?
Chilled lava, hardened glass.
Swigging at the verbal flask,
But these slurs pour forth slowly.
These ideas hide under the surface;
Shape-shift, germinate.
I can neither expel, nor exterminate,
When I can’t determine their purpose.
I wait for the tremors before I delve,
Dousing them with words
So that when they emerge
They can explain themselves.
viewingcamelot 
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