In Short Supply
I notice the things everyone else overlooks
while they are busy trying to grab content.
Hindered by a host of hot button hooks
it’s the details that memorex sentiment.
Phantom scent you will not taste again
keeps coming back until you write it out.
A fierce ache waits to transform your pen.
Trace it behind your eyes with pink neon
so it is crystal clear when the day is done.
Catching the line that was slightly jagged
changed that repro into a masterpiece.
The flash of brilliance my eyes snagged
served only to let the zeitgeist increase.
All five of my senses remain on high alert,
it’s hard to put into words a poet’s intuition.
Fantasy and reality inspire when they flirt.
Something inconsequential as you walk by
is that writer’s high in such short supply.
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