Poetry or Prose? Only the scholar knows what label thoughts on paper take or whether lines run together or break, the rules. Do I write to please a scholar, or to empty my head of floating syllables that wake me in the night? My answer is that I must ignor the scholar’s frown as I write down those words, thoughts, feelings in my head, waiting to be said, before they fly away to the land of dread, where they are doomed to fade away beneath piles of broken dreams and things unspoken, left to lie and die in the dust of lost opportunity and missed chance. Form can be a friend, I treasure it to no end, but there are times when thoughts run free and words won’t bend to fit in a syllabic line. So, prose then, can be my friend, as I randomly write into the night, words running ahead the thoughts in my head, tempting my fingers to tap the keys and create a space for them to live on paper.