with words tumbling through their heads as they rise and make the morning coffee is it
french press or drip pour over or a shot
do poets ascribe to a certain blend agreed upon in the ethers of their mental causeways because by
nature poets are interior creatures for how else would a common thread be created
the line about road less traveled or WCW about everything depending
this implies a worldly knowing for real he was a physician after all so there must be some depth of life outside head
space
today I ascribe
creativity is a call I cannot ignore yet neither do I seem able to settle over
paint words color ingredients garden growth redesign
the book tells me not all creatives determined to let words and colors release like doves from a box
to flutter and fill the skies sit down and mutter mindlessly or scribble manically until something one shot of insight
takes the world by storm they hold
these precious all day long jot or paint them once able to release their captivity and eventually
persistently?
believe their release will come back to them around
the edges of their lives