Floating in my cup of tea:
the bric-a-brac chunk leftovers
from the small scoop of flavorful dust
I stirred in, along with honey. . . .
. . . . realize that I am late. I am going to need more time, at least a week. After that, I will be back and set it all right.”. . . .
Ferocious as a violin
whose bow knows constant friction
this morning saw the day begin
with nature’s noisy diction
tirring up in all its forms
with which a busy day adorns
the fact and fiction of my heart
can leave me breathless with its scorn
awash in doubt, swiftly forlorn,
tossed in the air and torn apart.
Let’s talk inspiration: as in I am in serious need of some. Over the summer I drew back into my shell like a hermit crab and kept to myself. . . . .