I can’t/don’t plot
why am I writing
I have no plot in my life
and yet it’s interesting
things happen
in and out of likelihood
but I was given a wall of words
the day I was born
and some of them are here still
although that wall now sits
at the bottom of a well
I pull and pull on that damned rope
that moves the bucket
bringing water from the well of words
each drop infused
with something odd and viral
but it tastes of home
& home is what I mean to plant
cloud seeding
everywhere
between the stars
and here
between your ears
