I am beginning to understand
that words can drip as surely
as a tap needing a new washer.
But no plumber can stop or fix this tap.
No.
The constant drips must be heard,
will be written,
will not stop being formed,
till the words cease
with the coming of night.
These words drip and stain
the pages of my thoughts
and insist on being laid down
on a cold wet page;
not because they have to be
but because that is the place
they must fall.
30/7/2014