From Unfinished Stories
Unfinished stories live in us like bees
rebounding off our unspoken interiror.
Active and stunned, or angry,
they bash the insides of our mouths.
Insistent for exit,
they burrow into our brains and push.
Unfinished stories live in us like moths
fluttering to the flame of a conversation.
Eager to actualize
in the presence of others,
hiding in our unconscious
where we have no defense from them,
bumping against light bulbs of ideas,
desperate for escape.
Unfinished stories live in us like music
providing a soundtrack to our lives.
Notes escaping like air from bagpipes,
wanting to exit our sphincter,
tell tales from our tails
we are unprepared for.