Poetry
Something very transcending about art --
my poison, Poetry! I think of the pen
or keyboard as a wand. I wave and the
images of my mind appear, mystically
in the framework of a composition --
they do, sort of, materialize out of nowhere;
often not intending to write. Then, possessed
a spirit substance gushes from depths of fertile
consciousness! A place I fain where demons
and angels are at constant Chess. I merely
a receptacle for their vehement rivalry. The grace
of God, my goblet shape – they pour in and
out of me...when my session done, a rinse...and
ready to go again.
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