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.

Abnormal lives?

Cursed insecurities ?

Yes.

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,

Reminder: breath,

create tendrils of sound. Minds are ink.