I Think Therefore I Rhyme

I ponder things; plodding away, drumming

at a cadence that changes only in exclamation.

And I place my thoughts on pages

in the dark,

possibly to avoid reading them

but in better faith, in the hopes

of one day revealing them—in delighted surprise—

to myself.

But, either way, once in a while I peek back,

and find them, these words that rhyme

to the point of—at times—

sounding like bullied contrivances.

And then I realize that I might just speak to

my self—and perhaps answer—this way.

Perhaps, this is my circadian pace;

the beat by which I communicate to

the self that cohabitates the pleine space that makes up

my conscious place.

And it is no less lovely for its rhyming.