I have great manifestos gurgling in the throat of ---I suppose what would be my pen. Let’s say metaphorically--in my hand. But, it’s not only in my hand it is in my heart. It is the spirit of writing coming to visit me for the first time in months. The change of season is a peculiar time for me. I notice today….“extra.” Let’s just say there is more of me to love. I am filled up, literally :-). There is also more space available, more room to breathe, and better air. I think there are two qualities that inspire the mind of the writer, one being extreme pain, and the other room. I think better put...capacity. I always feel like in order to write, I need the space to do so. In my schedule that space is almost never available, but something about this season has brought with it the abundance of extra. And, just as it is with my own body to this extraness I say, “this is unexpected, but I love you anyway.”
Pieces of a dream fall out like lint and loose change from pockets with dark holes Dark holes which is where I been lately at least it feel that way to me for what seems like an eternity I am trying to shake loose all those things which threaten to bind me my destiny abounds in me I fight on when there is no more room to run
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