I awaken, finding myself in a shabby boat with horizontal oars. I have been floating, the momentum of which is now slowing. I take the oars in my aged hands, as if by some compelling instinct, dipping the paddles silently…
Your eyes are wide open Hanging on every little word Your heart listens as your soul Through appetence is stirred As you very well know Inspiration comes not as sought It’s the universe speaking to you Amidst the noises of…
What am I doing here There must be a purpose What am I made of? What’s below my surface? I don’t have friends I don’t have fame I have no good looks Only myself to blame
I’m going to sell my iPod and buy a guitar I’m going to trade in my smartphone for a clue I’m going to ditch my computer and find a typewriter Maybe then, things won’t be quite so askew
I walk through this place It’s dark, but still I can see All of these things are familiar But none of it is important to me These are tokens of frittered time Which only serve to remind me Of how…
I keep having this mysterious dream Where I’m walking alone in the dark It’s cold and vastly empty where I am Alas, I recognize my soul’s trademark In this vapid and empty dream I sense a figure standing in the…
So stands a solitary paintbrush in an otherwise empty cup; a lidless glass jar whose origins and prior purposes have faded from the fabric of remembrance. There are no other brushes; there is but this one. With bristles dry and…