This is what it feels like to be a writer (or a collector of anything).
Collection
I started out
with just a pen
the promise of pre-filled space
and my jumbled, tumbled thoughts.
Raucous ramblings reimagined
on paper,
not all my own, some
quips or quotations
careening, cascading,
transferred from mind
to metamorphosed meanderings
making their way to the other side of the lines.
Words dropped with gradual gravity
gathering,
gaps filling in empty pages,
fluttering, flickering,
fears and fantasies entrapped,
entangled,
bound like so many books
stacked unceremoniously on my desk.
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