It is a convergence
of classical cords
and caffeine
along with
the depth
of another
writer
who inspires
dormant desires.

I let the breath
of silently whispered
syllables
simmer in
the ocean
of my unconscious,

as ivory keys
percussively
pound little wooden hammers
against vibrating strings.

I am searching,
seeking
the speaking
of some cosmic being
that lives in me.

The utterance of
unnatural inspiration,
the soul of creation,
not a god force
but chemical particles
dancing in a storm
of confusion.

Dissonance
and novelty
gift me
each word
and verse's length,
but beyond this
I am still searching.

Still searching
in hopes the heart
of art will find me
successively
each day.