Forms

Days In The Blackberries Field R93

I can’t sort them out any more.
Putting them in forms is like closing them in boxes.
Where this one belongs?
Who is in charge for making identities?
Me?
No, I am too liberal for that.
They long for freedom, so who am I to form them in columns?
From nine to one…
Five…
Seven…
Rhyme them!
My words were born like birds, they don’t sing behind the bars.

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