ribbons on sticks

I’d quite like to steal away titles Run fast with them Almost tumbling, the poem a ribbon trailing I see them all but I imagine the trip And an angry poet catching up with me Telling me not to break unwritten rules So I’m not ( ) With a tear stained face Allowing panic and terror To strip the surface from my eyes... Nor am I dwelling in ( ) Encased in a quiet Where the little known inner self speaks Holder of the missing words Of kaleidoscopic puzzles To immerse into the abstract And when I’m at ( ) I won’t tell of Moments when hearts Tumbled into one another Entering serenity Some kind of quiet Stillness, pausing to inhale But the ribbons fly I tumble and roll but hold them aloft For even on a day with no breeze It’s possible to try and run to create flight