I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas.
My fingers are Santa's little helpers.
My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments.
I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn.
Sisyphus, sweating uphill.
Bukowski,
scribbling away
in rooming houses.
A river always flowing.
I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
I can hear your heart beating from here. And I can hear you breathing from there. And even if I'm not here with you tonight, I know where we'll be tomorrow. Together.
That's pretty. . .
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