I told you daily
And you have been waiting here
Checking in
Depending on my word
I am sorry
Thoughts exist and coalesce
But for fragments of time
The fog has been too thick
The need for attention in other places
Too great
And I am sad
Thoughts meet and make ideas
And without expression
They die
Oh I can gather the pieces
And try to paste them back together
But it is never the same
The brilliance is dull
The shine murky
My ideas are best fresh
Newly ripened
The smell and taste of newness
Lead to transportation
Over-ripe, pasted together ideas
Are just a path through the woods
And you aren't going to find Shangri-La
At the end
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