Where did all this come from? Where did it all begin? Don’t let me sit here wondering now I don’t know where it eventually ends I put the words down on the page I let them simmer in the light of day There’s nothing really stopping me when I type them down to make them stay I can’t let go of this little thread It spins itself as I watch it fly My fingers touch the hallowed page The light goes on and I start to say The things I’ve thought The way they’re made There’s nothing here that can’t be said I won’t slow down or go around It’s through the wall I step again Did you see what I had to say? Do you think there’s better way? Let me know and I won’t deny I caught you watching so you can’t pretend I’m living the dream as you walk on by I’m happy in this place we’ve never been
Writing for me is pretty much a spontaneous indulgence. Knowing how to stop having fun is impossible. Well, I do require sleep and sustenance. Still, I love weaving a poem as it comes into my head one line at a time. Sometimes there is a basic floorplan to follow. Other times it is a pure “stream of consciousness”. Either way it’s all spontaneous.