Experiment

I had mentioned something in my blog entry from yesterday about those darned blabbersome thoughts that remind me of interesting bits that could be formed into poems if they were written down but cease to exist anytime they are near what suspiciously looks like a way or method to chain them into being documented (whew).

Well, I'm near virtual ink now, so I thought I'd try to prove my theory wrong about those blabbersome thoughts that hate being seen. Perhaps they aren't so elusive, unfriendly or antisocial. But, more likely, I'm wrong.

Ok.

Eighteen, full of courage (and stupid), I
wanted to touch the face of the other side.

Took a friend to a graveyard Walpurgis Night, tried
to play yes or no with spirits I didn't know.

They didn't know me, so didn't bother to answer
my knock at their gate. I knew no addresses.

Even here, the line crackles and both ends run thin.

(Thats where this poem wants to end but there was more blabber of a different sort that I had heard and liked better.)