Random happenings of words

onto the blank page

or screen

do we have enough energy to dream?

I love the clarity of your words 

the charity of sounds 

that surround us

I wish I could trust 

my own heart 

But it bleeds like ink 

onto the page 

I am reading the poems of my own rage 

the twisting beauty 

of poet trees 

is the tree of life too far

to guide us to who we are