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.