what if you just started writing
to see what came out?
like clawing up a big rock
that was slunk halfway down
into the damp soil
earthworms, rolly pollies wiggle underneath
not eager to be disturbed.
like excavating a dusty old box
you found in the attic
in the corner, under a pile of photo albums
musty papers, keepsakes, ticket stubs, diplomas
memories
seep out of pores
impossible to arrange back in
the way you found them.
Psychobabble 