Now to write because I can’t read.

The minds I have,

One attracts one repels,

Yet each seems a real response to a situation.

Keeping up the pace, that’s where the skill lies

Or the luck maybe or maybe both.

Sometimes in writing there is so much waiting

And sometimes reading is work.

Everyday I ask for only one thing.

To be left alone with my two minds

And my many others

And to let them find the goat’s path home.