Friday, April 29, 2011


Home late again last night and just plain exhausted, so here is yesterday's poem. Today's will come... tonight, I guess. Another poem about writing.


Sit inside a mirrored room--
without reprieve,
without relief--
and mine what is inside of you...
the water's cold, but it's still deep.

You light the path in front of you.
The words are there,
just reach inside
and find the flame you buried there,
the fire that's helped you to survive.

Do not believe the lie that you are sad,
or sick, or bruised, pathetic.
You're soul and flesh.
You're given words,
which would, of course, make you prophetic.

The only task before you
is to do what you know how to.
Write it down.
Write it now.
Creation is kinetic.

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