The ink pen brings out the remembrances.
Breathing in through my left nostril
and breathing out through my right nostril
in a chapel, laying on the carpet.  
This weariness, looking at a stark naked, loud tree.
So many words potentially rushing to the floodgates,
pursuing the exit, the fire exit, the iron staircase,
window escape, chimney scaling and freed.
Instead, words smash up and block the entrance way
with their attitudes of arrogance
or their inexplicable self consciousness.

Words are canned soup and my can opener got broke on the second day of school so does anyone have one I can borrow or use?