Times …

There are times,

Fleeting times,

When he can catch his breath,

When his heart isn’t batter-hammering

Inside his chest,

Inside his brain,

That he can believe the lies:

That he is gaining on the familiar figure

Disappearing through the doors,

Ahead, frustratingly just beyond recognition;

That he can decide whenever he wants

To stop running;

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Iron Frustration.

 

Been away. Not travelling; just absent. Been away. Again. But this time my feet stayed in the same place. My muse went away. Again. Was it my fault? Of course … but I guess she needs space too, to visit her own sources of inspiration. Away.

While I dallied, uselessly, and useless, between weak guitar runs and wet days that leaked bad energies. Nothing came. Nothing came out right. Again.

Did it ever?

Been surrounded by books, often my favourite company. New stories, plots, characters, facts, you’re a reader you know what I’m saying … but everything was going in,

in,

in,

in:

no sparks, no fires being set off, no leaps of disjointed thingummywhatsit coming together.

No bl”%*y writing!

Couldn’t see the thoughts for the iron?

The phases of the moon … which was honey when it should have been bone?

Bad karma, not enough sleep, not enough you know what else, too much this, too many that … and introspection never pays the going rate.

I smile to think it, but patience is over-rated, just sometimes has to be enough.

Image:imperomedia.com

 

All Your Sleep

While they stretch and preen,

Sweat and strut-strut-stumble

My finger is taking memories –

Click by click –

I am mentally repackaging

Versions of history,

Stacking facts

Picking opinions

Filing options for posterity.

Or is this just my ego? Continue reading