these insatiate old thoughts
demand justice for their restlessness;
they are the demons i keep lashed tight
inside my fists and the early-morning dreams
i refuse to voice on paper;
an unbridled verse
wrapped up inside all the pretty words;
for all that ever died quietly
but was not at peace.
running nearly barefoot through the semidarkness,
they clamor in my chest
out of time with my heartbeat,
stumble over roots as they dig down deep,
truths as they reach skyward.
goosefleshed and bitten, their heels as they fly
are soaked through with dew or
something more sinister;
like you, they desire only that i would be more clear.