snow feels like songs under the porch lamp at night

we are responsible for ourselves in every moment
because it seems so much easier to apologize
than to exist in ways that don’t allow us to do those things for which we might later feel sorry or regret

words are just words. and most of mine fall apart slowly after leaving the tongue – break down between the contrast of text to screen. loose from context or adequate placement. without thought to recompense, i still allow them to move along. routing a map that seems likely to have no end point. and that will just keep me hungry – plodding recklessly along its borders until i’ve circled back – found no home – no sense of space or place. nothing on which to lay my head. stop my thoughts. lately i’ve not thought intently enough about the power of language, of place, of the inherent unfitness of unchecked emotion. through a self-immolation of revelation and reveling, i move. unsure. and yet still moving.