Ideas are better left as ideas.

Plots, stories, plans.
Those things should live in your head.

 

Your thoughts are twisted knots,

or wads of butterscotch.

That needs chewing or untangling

to create something malleable.

 

No wonder fire side stories were

passed on by word of mouth.

And not strewn across pages

like bedding hay for horses.

 

Only fools attempt to share

their prose and other pieces.

 

Because the carefully constructed

drafts and plans of one man

will mean nothing but words to them. 

And absolutely everything to you.

 

Succinct verse
does not suffer that curse.