What is the sky
but a canvas for clouds?
What is a city
but a canvas for crowds?
What is the meadow
so verdant and green
but a canvas for sheep
a pastoral scene?
What is the ocean
with reflections so blue,
than a canvas for sails
as they drift into view?

I had to write it
right then
nothing would stop the flow
out of my mouth
whirlpools of imagination
my vision drenched with words
running over and over the brim
it was pouring out
spilling onto the floor
puddles at my feet
find me a pen
I need a pen
write it write it out
on the back of napkins
scraps of paper
margins
envelopes
skin
write it while the river flows
while the deluge pours
while the words still make scense
find me a pen
I need to write
I will never remember it the same way
the same way it saturates my clothes
my skin
panic and euphoria
fear and excitement
write it out
write it out
find me a pen
before it's too late
before it's gone