treading through a swampy pondering,
lost and sticking in those same old spots,
escaping the phantasms of yesterdays, and stumbling
over the possibilities, the mangroves shudder as i spiral further
inward, but then i remember a time, where words made a path
and the light of forging them together on to paper, calmed the beasts.
i grasped in the fog to the pix-elated dimension.
to find a voice unhidden, “well, then you should”,
now i write unhindered of the secret to escaping,