Writing and driving never mix.
But I'm afraid thought will tie laces to shoe and flee.
Flee leaving me wordless, breathless, and poor
Poor begging on the corner of inspiration.
So panic rises in my chest ,
heart to ear,
pores  open with sweat.
Im urged in haste to write.
Write with images of words streamlining to the chorus
of phrases and thoughts passing.
I write and write.
Write until images fade to grey leaving me open and warm.
As a newborn to mothers milk,
I am full,
safe,
and inspired.