As the washer clinks and clunks its way toward clean clothes. I sit and think while listening to the rhythms of the machine as it cleanses all. If it could only cleanse my mind of random thoughts of nothing, that seem always to get in the way.
To clear a path to thoughts of substance, paving the way to literary greatness, or at least a word that wiggles itself into some mediocre write which I know shouldn’t have made it to someone else's eyes.
I need that garbled clump of goop that feeds my appetite for writing, as it dislodges remnants of times gone by, things that are shaken loose from deep within my soul, while it agitates and spins me in new and different directions.
It is what life has given me to work with, an abundance of good and bad, new and old, fresh and stale, with a vehicle for me to climb aboard to explore the deep recesses of my mind and soul. It seems that vehicle stalls at times and hesitates before it is able to start again and continue on its way.
To take me out of this non productive place I’m in, to that crisp clean white piece of paper so my pen will flow to places it’s never been.