Write, they say?
What? I ask
So many clusters of ideas and promises
Floating in my head
Why pass them to my fingers?
The extentions of me that waiver with pen
that glaze over the keyboard with tendency
Perhaps it is time to release the cloistered images
Propel them out to the nothingness from which they came
Letting new life and fantasies birth
in my
old hands
and old frames of reference
Today I write
About what ? they ask
About nothing, I say
The nothingness that permeates creation
