20191010.0430

Sometimes
It is like running water
A relaxation and an open flow
Tinkling into a basin ready to receive it
Or making a mark on what is seen of a standing tree
Sometimes
It is oozing blood
The leavings of a sharp edge struck suddenly
Seeping forth for a time
And scabbing over
Sometimes
It is a strain and a start
And something plops out
Accompanied or not
But seldom quietly
And often leaving a lingering odor
Sometimes
It is emetic
The natural and appropriate result of having
Choked down something foul
At which the innards rebel
Rightly
Sometimes
It is the work of hands on a rigid cylinder
Repeatedly pulling at it
One way or another
Until something comes out
And more likely a waste than put to any good
That might pass down a generation
And though it has not been
For me
I am told that
Sometimes
It is a throbbing thing
Pulsing
Waiting for the merest touch of someone
Who knows what to do
For release