Falling backwards
Into the unfolded arms
Of blank books
Plowed like farms
In neat rows
With sticks and stems
Watered black by ink
Hemorrhaged from pens
In sequestered corners
And cluttered vaults
As the bank of my soul
Brings all transactions to halt

So I may fall backwards
Into folding arms
And scribbled hands.

These moments forming
Drip like leaky thoughts
Pooling in posterity
All they contain or impart
Drops with directionality
And the thin skin of surface tension
Exploding as they collide
Into all I’ve been- all I am.
Too many moments to mention
But each sip remains.
I am the same. I am changing.
I am forever changed.
I am the moment forming,
The moment collected,
And the moment evaporated away.