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.