Words jumble around in my head like half dried cement in a mixer. Clunking and bumping around ungracefully as I try desperately to align them in some sort of order. chasing after one word or another, I see it glimmering at times, but the moment it is reached for it is once again playful enveloped into the chaos.
Shaking my head does not irradiate the mess like the forgetful screen of an etch-a-sketch, but rather just perpetuates it. So instead of continuing a loosing battle, I open my mouth and let them fall onto the page, trowel and shovel in hand.
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