jenga

a soup of words, 

is as best as how i

could describe them. 

semi-formed poems,

thoughts, feelings, all 

swimming in my head,

bumping, waiting, waiting

for the right sentences

to form, as if the words 

try to set themselves onto

these pre-formed molds, 

a kind of fixed measure 

for what my brain sees as 

perfect and beautiful. 

sentences merging together

to make paragraph blocks, 

an architecture of words,

building, forming shapes,

forms, buildings, structures

that inspire, intrigue and awe,

spires, towers, and cathedrals 

that aspire to reach heaven.

one on top of the other

they pile, stacking till ever 

so high, so high until i have

none more to say,

none more to write, 

think or do.

my stores are depleted, 

my ideas all 

exhausted

either that or 

when my thoughts

fail me and everything

 just comes

crashing 

                  down.