Commitment

Things don’t always tie in neatly and nor should words.

They should be fragmented,

discordant,

sta.cca.to,
fluid like neraids wearing flowing green silk doing the backstroke,

hollow,

empty,

leaping off

the page in

pogo-sticked

exuberance

shouting their mad joy

SMACK

in the reader’s unsuspecting face,

intimate as the nook in your lover’s neck where he smells the gentlest,

turbulent like the blood in your heart,

constant like you.

They should be what you are, who you are, where you are, how you are. When you give up on them, they give up on you.

How can you?