Manic Expressions In Black
It's a fact: poems write themselves
on their way to creating life.
Drop a dollop of ink on a sidewalk,
a body with arms and legs emerges
from the point of impact. North,
south, east, west, every point
between. Sometimes a familiar
shape appears, like a starfish,
New Yorker, or an epiphany. It
can also be undefinable, quaint,
or a beautiful mistake. Often, you
nudge the edges to attain the
shape in your musing. Does it ever?
Pen to paper is good news, a
coupling sanctioned by Eros himself.
No color-by-numbers road map
necessary. An idea is a drop of
paint waiting to be splattered.
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