I’m finding tons of writing fellow cult dwellers. All of this packing has invoked forgotten notebooks to fall from the sky. Sucks to the entire ink to notebook to cyberspace to etc processes that make me feel impatient and leave me with words EVERYWHERE.
I’ve concluded that it’s not because I’m unorganized. It’s because organizing takes up writing time. And I spend enough time organizing at work… where I actually have to spell it ‘organising’ just to give my brain that little more exercise.
Naturally I’m still writing poems on the train.
a squirming tickle in your throat
The texture of your buttoned lips is…
A letter in the mail, pleasant surprise.
Solution. No need for analysis.
No impatient wait for opening eyes.
My flexible fingers are sprawling your…
An offer born. What you don’t have to do.
Won’t you be a book? With me as author.
And I will tell stories of beauty true.
Verse about eyes the color of sea stone.
A voice revealing music in pure form.
Gold glitter love to decorate your throne.
Violet and indigo protection swarms.
Distant observations, how the time flies.
Every word swallowed is a choked on sigh.