Just when winter speaks
and cries with lightning blood
and speeds the words away
and I realize I’ve spent
much too much time wandering
about a vineyard of circuitry
without finding
whatever it is
I seek
Poetry, on-line chat logs, scene reports, audible movie quotes and vain snippets of my own voice; pictures of knives, pin-ups, and faceless paramours.
Enough?
Perhaps.
Not enough for me but you must follow your own heart.
I never tire of your words and your unique perspective. I also like hearing the sound of your voice reciting those words.
Maybe you can omit the photos of knives on “pink” carpet.
I only religiously read a few blogs of which yours is one of my faves . All I know, D’jaevle, is I’d miss you if you were gone.
wandering, pondering, and that moment of sudden clarity…
a sense a spark.