Those Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

things....motorized....inert.....flailing...abject.....
they'll lie in there until some oblique shaft of light,
a color or scent or sound or
space or lack of it invites them to dance, flare.. speak....
crumble from the outside in with
explosive pops, unsettling groans and rasps...an occasional soothing but short-lived tune........
.they don't bother with externals....
.their time and place is anywhere....
.you are their perambulating vehicle.....
.they own you...they are the ill or fine-fitting pieces that are you....
you wear them...
.they are your flesh, your eyes...
your skin.. your voice....
they will surface...if you are lucky you'll catch some of them
could be they'll live on paper..
..if you find the words they love and you shape them just so.....