tapping in–my codices

sweet release, the inner turmoil
scribe what i see with my soul
my outward sight my inner gaze
what i choose to create or re-create
from regurgitated, regulated memories,
lift the burden
from the right side of my brain
resulting not in an opening of pandoras' box
but rolling more like sisyphus' rock.

a contextual textual stream
void of organic calligraphicality
spilling onto the parchment--oh! my codices;
like verbal vomit
soaking the blank page through
chunky dark and rough in spots
in others running clear as morning dew.

some find it divine
wanting to dive right in
immersing themselves in the messages no matter the mess,
others wouldn't touch it with the longest pole
they are intrigued by watching others read and react
such voyeuristic flies on a subway wall.

it's an outlet of verbal and conjugated meanderings
tapping into an underlying theme
sharing a little but not too much
essential elements of friendly information,
a little can go a long way in exposing vital tender areas
and nothing can take that back
that bird will have flown.

bring nonfictional happenings and real life tribulations
expose them in their subliminal corners
but inject some lighter fare
airing dirty laundry gets old
even if the wind is blowing in a different direction.

i'd rather be the conductor on a ride through my imagination
it's not that i have anything new to say
but even the same story told by two different people
can be two different tales
on the same day.