One way or another, the moment permitting, able to say what I think at times, and otherwise saying it poorly and jumbled. I keep writing my poems without wanting to... As if writing weren't something made up of gestures, as if writing were something that happened to me like the sun outside shining on me, or not.

I try saying what I feel
Without thinking about what I feel.
I try fitting words to the idea
Without going down a corridor
Of thought to find words.

I don't always succeed in feeling
what I know I should feel...
This I feel, and this I write,
Knowing perfectly and not
without seeing that the time has 
run out, and the sun has gone.

Because I think it without thoughts...
Because I say it as my words say it...
Because I write as my pen write...
Because I draw as my pen draw...