Back in Place

I am talking about the feeling that I had when I saw your head pop from behind that door. And I felt there was alliteration between us, like in a poem. But then the poem was empty and I had to own up to the fact that I was too. Not completely, though, just a part. It’s all this time, you see? It’s been driving me nuts, cutting me off, chopping me down. And I had to grow my arms again, I had to grow my feet, and I had to grow my head back up on my shoulders.
And then that cup of thought was looking, glaring, almost leering, as if expecting me to speak my mind. Hell, I said, I thought it’d be easier. And then I had that silly, tiny, creaking crack waiting to be glued together, for the parts are nothing just as they are. And they were jumbled. They jumbled them, I know. But I also know I had jumbled them myself.