One way or another...

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 verses and 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.

I try saying what I feel
without thinking about what I feel.
I try fitting words to the ideas
    without going down a corridor
    of thought to find words.