I have hundreds of word docs saved, on various computers.

Bits and pieces of new creations, mostly poetry

Often containing words willed into existence many years apart

My chaotic ‘method’ is to use these as scattered receptacles of wooden puppet ideas waiting to become real boys, at random.

Then later when attempting to make sense of it all, it becomes a rather delicious game of ‘you never know what nice surprises you will get’.

This document I am using as I jot this down has 4 poems, mostly not too terrible.

 And then this one line, set on a page all of its own ‘’I love (just the initial of her 1^st name goes here)’’

And every single time I use this document, and read this line

I tear up (just a tiny bit, in I have ‘’something in my eye, sort of way’’)

 Sometimes (most times actually) in a good way

Sometimes in a sad way

‘cause it’s

Complicated