Youve Got Mail

I must begin it's not a sin to be obsessive, and also compulsive-- We're the movers and shakers, the deal breakers though we didn't sign up to be a hiccup in the psychiatric ward. Never ordinary, it goes with the territory of being a poet. To no one do I owe it, this language luggage, the synaptic baggage that sends me voices, and other choices. Cool text messages in the silence come from the poetic home where the mind is free to speak to me 'sans' cellular phone. Just me and my muse who likes to amuse in the silence I seek to send me word-speak, or phrases next, amazing me with her choice of the texts. The mind was here with singular psychology before technology.