don't they understand that I need time for scribbles?
time to ruminate, cogitate, and dream of days to come, nights flown by, moments flirting past my window right this moment?
are they not hip to the muse's timetable?
... and so ~ i stifle song,
mouthing the words in mental silence,
not giving shape or cause to their form or meaning.
hoping, one day, for time