Sometimes we loosen our lexical grip.
Words crawl out like newborn spiders.
But that newborn will grow up.
It will spin webs.
It will eat bugs.
Those words, which crawl like arachnids, are like flowing water.
They fall through each crevice.
It conforms to it's environment.
Those words should stay in.
The spiders unhatched.
The lake full.
Those words are inconsistent with my condition.
Yet they still pour out, mindlessly.