Is at times a tricky thing to find.

It is often quickly fleeting, like a breath of wind that blows in through the . . .

Some days, I sit to write
and feel I must open every box in my limited mind shelving
before finding something remotely interesting
to set my pen about.

Perhaps tonight I have opened the last box,
or perhaps I have misplaced some.
Nevertheless, when my last resort to inspiration is to write on inspiration itself . . .
I think it is time to find some more boxes.

August 19, 2011


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