Form

Fit inside, bouncing off

the ceiling and the surface

My lines go along and across

these dotted tunnels

My words build on

My thoughts overflow

A hundred-storey building

flown horizontal

Shapes of my mind revealed

on the blank page with

a fence-work of

tiny black dots

His designs,

the unknown maker,

his thoughts unknown

Shapeless and vacant, for

My words,

scrambled and sullied,

in slots within dots,

in my search for a form