A Poem About Ideas

I have so many ideas, some are greedy, most aren’t. Ideas are always coming and going, mimicking us. Becoming. Unraveling. They are anything, and remarkable. The greatest of them start small like the rest. But they grow into these big things, these totally unexpected, wonderful things. Imagine. Something wasn’t, and then it was, and everything was different, just like that.

I want to be positive about that. You can be negative. Some clear division that people are keen to measure, absolutes like black and white. I see the value there, i think. I know that I’m not positive, which was never a problem before. I was what I was, unquestioning. Then all of a sudden, this strange impulse, this desire for magnetism. Your mind thinks of love while I lose my balance. I am many things. I am an abundance of thought. My whole is immeasurable.