Sprung forth from my chin tiny reminders of metaphor, very much less in bloom. If pride is a sin my facial hair is a crime. Raw nerve endings fill in better. I have a vision, of fields ripe, I have a reminder to attain. I glimpse progress in the mirror, of telephone poles and picket fences. Idle scratchy reminder. In cocoon, buzzing about, things need organized, labeled, quantified, sorted, stacked, measured, recorded. I know better stories, but they put a finger to lips and wink, they are waiting, smart enough to keep silent, knowing that they wish to be Out Done by what is to come.
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