Friday, July 27, 2007


Night falls and the words emerge, pushing sleep to the boundaries of irrelevance. When the fireflies dart across the sky, the katydids start to sing, and the dog enters her impenetrable dreamworld, that is when my words come out to play. They exist mostly beyond my grasp, outside of consciousness. Molded by dreams, warped by memory, they exist in a parallel universe where time is suspended and reality has no meaning.

Words crossfade in an endless stream of surreal concepts, hoping for sense to promptly follow suit. Yet sense hardly ever responds to command. Words demand unlocked inspiration, freedom and the perfect alignment of the planets.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I'm doing a paper on Sylvia Plath at the moment....didn't realize you are quite the poet! Wonderful poem/piece of sure are gifted.