Come Ponder with Me

 

 

Whether is makes sense

or it's just the

roiling sediment

of recovery from

illness

or a tough day

emotion

always pushes work

out of me.

 

It's the most curious

of birthing processes

but then again

perhaps not.

 

 

Time passes.

I fill to brimming

with threads of ideas

in the form of

color

and texture

and light

and words

not knowing for sure

how to weave them together

into one

final

thing.

 

And then the emotion comes.

Brief. Prolonged.

It doesn't matter.

It's the pressure

from being

brim-full to exploding

with emotion

finally tapping the

vessel

to relieve the pressure.

 

And suddenly

hours later

after losing myself in the process

it's just:

there.

 

Another of those

cigarette moments, I guess.

And dang, but the release is so, so good.