there was never any magic to finding my way to this place just another sleepless night
restless longing to feel, pretend that I could belong

somewhere, at least for a time

to cast my words like fishing lines in hopes of catching some fragment of acceptance
in a craft where I still fumbled
stumbled, blind as any bat

fingers grouping harsh and frantic after words that plagued my mind jerking sleep back like a rug that used to lay so still and lifeless

leaving me flat on my back head spinning with so many verses
titles for these names and faces
places, places I have yet to see but still go seeking endlessly

scratching words through coffee shops, plane flights.. bus stops
somber tones of concert halls rising higher

pitch matched only by these shaking hands still gripping pen and paper
feverish with intent and desire to find their place where two worlds could meet

if only as a passing glance between two threads of a second where I could simply fall in place and know as artists do
that I am not alone