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Flow of thought


The flow of thought upon the paper,
tapers from a distant time.

Lines once written, lost in meaning,
meaning more or less the same.

Time goes on, the author doesn’t…
whispers still reach out to mind.

Calling thoughts and skills to deepen
Once language ends; then ends it’s time.


Poet, though I feel thy sorrow,
Yet, let not it be my own.

Learn from thee, I have, and opened
To the light, my poets mind.

Original what?

One of the most liberating thoughts I’ve had lately is that I can’t be completely original. How can I originate a thought without thinking of things God has already made, said, or thought of in the first place. I can only rearrange. That means that all those things I almost wrote down, but decided were too unoriginal, were about as original as the things I actually thought were original. In the end, one only kicks oneself for what one didn’t put into writing…or put in the wrong place. I’ve done my share of both…

Flu shots working much?

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I think these flu shots are just making it madder… because within my memory span, I’ve never encountered the flu being near this bad. I think we’re somehow just making it worse.