these are the times

there are times of special
meaning. transformations that
take us not by surprise
but by the hair, dragging
pulling into the vortex
of feelings, whirlwind of
reluctant change. and the more things change
the more they stay changed? can't
find my way through old
names, feelings, proverbs, wisdom of
peoples, when however wordy
it is my life I am
attempting to live, create
and my life, contrary to this firmly embedded
assumption of mine, is more, is
way more than
words. and here I am, dosing myself with
plots, to keep from kicking and
screaming, slowing down the
necessary replication of cells
of thought. because when the solutions
finally emerge, they're simple, they're
thoughts that I've seen before, had before
only too quiet to get
through. And so, finally, I realize
this time, this body, this mind
and hope, again, that there's something left
of time, so that I
can do my best, before getting hit
by a falling
star of frustration

[like a brick from a window
on a spring morning
fated and random
depending on language
and spaces you leave
in between]