Words--The Heart of Imagination

Before twilight’s panels close the day, I sneak into this sacramental hallway fueling my pagan howls where I can be the raw-weed of a bush: a time when vignettes drain the floor--- spilling bones of my own pen, scratched and bent. Here, the vein bleeds of how I watched a pellet sun grate dusky leaves upon cobblestones, or why old man Stanley picked his regular bench in the park, talking to himself motionless as imaginings of verses run while the vivid language plays in my head. Brian Johnston's Contest Words---The Heart Of Imagination by nette onclaud