Childing

What can we tell you?
We are all here, green, and fruitful,
even the wrecked and rabid
all our budding devils and gods
slobbering delightedly
over words,
pictures we put together
with fingers sticky with sap
childing each other,
completing one jigsaw at a time
problem solving,
problems we manufactured
in the root factories of a soft labor, 
a work to keep us tightly wrapped up
in a sense of self exploration
to keep us rambunctious enough
to think we are creating something
when in fact,  that ‘something’ 
is actually ‘us’,
and we do ‘us’ well
but when we don’t, we call that spillage 
and over ripeness -
a poem.

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