Words and phrases and imagination escape me.
Traveling upward from my left ventricle,
they make a mad dash out of my right ear
and left eye.
I could not piece together an explanation
even if I were handed sentences and glue.
In some minuscule way I refuse
to even pause to reflect on needing to be newly sewn,
like a sweater that has lost one thread
to an exposed nail in unfinished drywall.
The shirt can only really be the same with that thread,
though it would be whole with another, it's just a different shirt.
...but one I'd wear if it kept me warm.