Jon Collins

You Can’t Force It You can’t force it, you can’t cause it You can’t make it happen just because you want it You can’t shape it out of

Stolen, forsaken Moments created in time Seconds turn to hours

Every Morning Wading through complexity, noises a cacophony Voices vie for supremacy, inner children, DJs at quiztime A diabolical party, leaving you no time to think If even thinking would help. Helpless, floating

Keep it short, they said. So I did. 20 December 2021

The shape of the thing Mysterious, and Not quite opaque Inscrutable, bland Yet calling, as if A voice from afar Its outline may shimmer Unconfident, shaking But still, it pervades With consciousness clouded