SPILLING THE WHINE

when words
fall free
as though
shaken loose,
but then
land in place
to make a thing,
nebulous at first
but building itself
word on word,
one and then
another
down the screen
as though
descending a ladder
toward the
solid ground
of knowing
and telling

expressing
something
almost an idea,
some restless
truth stirring
in a thicket
of thought
and word
but wanting
through,
pushing
through
and finally
finding
its place
on the page