Ink Blots

There's a lovely sense of tumbledown-ness
when your question parts company with intent
and takes on a life of its own. I'm not sure

about the last line or your diction as a whole,
but the scatterbomb approach makes narrative
tricky to follow, as slippery to hold as the wind.

Whisper to me of far away memories, good reads,
new films and moments still to come. Let error be:
rumination doesn't need a ready-made finish,

roads don't need maps to find their own way.
I used to know the word for man-made paths
that cut across corners and common ground

trying to get there in a straight line. As the
crow flies is tricky, nature in extreme; you'll
never catch the ink-blot bird as he dodges

and dissects the sky. If I've misread anything
then please assume it was deliberate; poems
are often stronger without anywhere to go.