A trace of form

I feel the worm,
turn,
as it falls down and through
the antechamber of my complicated heart.
Blast of a past,
that left all to be coaxed
out of my overbearing need
to make a difference
that is not just relevant
to my hopelessly overt imagination.
Jamming my way to the light
then am I;
stumble and fall,
demanding and all.

A X