The compilation of words to bring forth a thought constipated and repressed
Is like the perfect little orgasm of clarity.
Considered moments leading to culmination of expression
That singular release of disconnected pleasure.
Flashes of brilliant light to illuminate darkened sight
The mind clears to rush forth the words like seafoam over exposed feet.
I have tried for several days now to write. I have read like a madman, tried free association. Even bought and ate chocolate…to no avail. I can come up with a sentence or two, but I cannot connect the dots. Where are the day to day hiding places of the muse? Behind the sofa, under the bed, on the patio sitting in the sun? I looked. No luck. Perhaps my muse is sitting on my kitchen counter eating the rest of the chocolate covered almonds.
Until I find the words, I will roam the house like a concerned child; fretting, circling, waiting for the dryer to stop and the blanket returned to outstretched arms.