Wednesday, November 11, 2015


The blinking cursor does draw
what the open notebook calls.

I have never hated the blank page.

The well within would seem endless.

Fall forward into the trance.
It may take an hypnotic wait.

Then will come the image or line,
exploding forth with fire of mind.

I wait in quiet space,
it will come, it will come.
Beauty and pain to distillate.

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