My seat at the desk: a window to my excuse
The sun hot, yet not enough to kill mosquitoes.
Notebooks open, words collapse. Zombie lovers,
grade three drop-out
who does not fear death applaud harp player.
Writers with swimmer’s shoulders
cautious demeanors escape
from the world through music. & words. & the poet who avoids personal pronouns bunks with an artist in love with the smell of sun-hot cars.
An hipster & his cult keep another’s secrets. A novelist names her fountain pen Lucius, her cat Normin.
Slightly insane, simple farm girls stay up
until onethirtyinthemorning playing Dungeons and Dragons edition 3.5.
Cursed insecurities ?
So, wait for the private bathroom talks when uncertainties are too much to keep concealed.
& don’t scratch inexhaustible itches. Write by flashlight ‘til threeinthemorning.
Exaggeration, politeness, quests, skepticism & innocence keep young awake who do not sleep devour dreams
appreciate Bach, love kilts.
Who is it barely out of elementary who favours coffee over sleep
and the theatre over film? Look!
Suits with stripes, shoeless feet and dreams
to skydive alongside Tolkien.
All writers. all self-doubt & egos.
& fountain pens & arguments.
Extreme in tender pleasures and insults (English, French, Yiddish Latin).
STAND TALL smart, proud explorers.
Perform sensations, create demons,
betroth yourselves to a life of creativity, eat metaphors for breakfast. Fill bottomless pits
with curiosity. Think too much. Read with parched lips.
Find each other as the rain pounds down,
create tendrils of sound. Minds are ink.