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.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
aspacecadet
explorer Ostrich
with his head in the ground
an insect
trapped in amber
until you release me
from
wonder
fear
and from being stuck
in the past
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