composition - poem

rising to the brim--maybe it's there already,
sloshing back and forth from the edge
waiting, craving release but uncertain of how,
from amnesia of overwhelm, forgotten faculties,
forgotten its form and purpose to flow when frozen in
moments
or moment, or then, here, tomorrow,
now

unable to recall knowing
how to fall
into acceptance of its composition, its liquid state of alkaline truth
instead, it yearns to burst through and over--
instead, it bubbles, and threatens sublimation

how can it create,
when, unwilling to ebb through
the darkness of resolve, it

destroys, waiting, blinded by white denial,
killing tomorrow's birth with its poison

decaying the prism of choices--
left only with sobering decisive

indecision


realization

too late and yet

it discovers fiction in the story of inability to make something out of its nothingness, the fiction of its vaporous state as it was but a dream, provoked by yesterday's chemical lies,

the belated truth that its substance has been fluid all along