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Inkblots In Various meduims Spilt.

Updated on January 12, 2010

Inkblots in various mediums Spilt.



Like a demon
to get out,
the pencil digs
into bleached pulp,
making no.# 2 stains
in graphic powder streaks,
as my brain leaks
titanic thoughts,
from what was
once an iceberg
of frozen thought
floating by.

In a whisper
from a voice
beyond my most
humble realm here,
comes a spark
of inspiration
haunting me,
taunting me,
causing me
to reflect
on far more,
than my rear
view mirrors.

one cannot
escape this urge
even at 70 miles
per hour,
it dictates,
and demands me
press the red button,
and transcribe
what calls to me,
on tiny spools of
acetate that
spin in slow
lazy circles,
as they capture
my uttering
between breathless
simile and smiles

by my window
to the world
I gaze,
into the web
where the spider
is my mind,
sucking huge volumes
of poetic flow
from my very soul,
it is here
I strain to catch
a mere vibration,
that will move me
to scramble,
and capture
it's life force
wrapped up
in tight lines,
and spaces formed
in that
highly keyed up,
of yarns,
much like the silk
spun by arachnids,
who make patterns
to catch their
on the fly.

this then
proclaims, how
poetry is born,
from the womb of
my imagination,
in three cycles,
from fertile mind,
come labor pains,
and joyous
of each new
expelled. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~/©-MFB III


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