some books are never published;
shut, and shut in bottom drawers,
hushed, handwritten words huddled in dust –
but even more stories are not ever written.
how better to be told once
and never heard –
told! and contained in a single untouched manuscript –
than to exist and be cast off
from the shores of one mind
tossed to the ocean of thoughts ne’er escaped
on the ship of a pen or a voice.
how better to sail and sink
than to drown outright.
I am not special to anyone.
I have had to deal with that.
unread? yes,
but told and told and told nonetheless.
moldy.ca 