We begin from beginnings, from a chaos
Of darkness where you had not even once
Suspected existences, that flimsy matter.
In the dark night it would end up roundly
As the east reddens it would begin again
And several beginnings form in amoeba –like
Existences and word-shapes of free volition
Their false feet, like lies spoken in the day,
Wiggle to make our existences daily poems.
We write without thinking, do not even write.
When we think, our writing stops at our lips