Tiny fingers tap the table top
pushed to the back of my mind.
Incessant pen clicking follows
furiously forcing a pulse
to rise at my left temple.
The muse ignored
does not suffer this practical fool gladly.
Haiku [untitled]
Winter and the cold snow bring the dark-eyed juncos. My heart, full, watches.
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Today's color: White GISH Starchy shrapnel covers the cutting board-- evidence of a warped mind driven to carve a couch ...
1 comment:
That muse can be a real bitch huh? I feel this way daily...so inward all the time it's not good for us! We both need more of an outlet, one that gives more often.
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