To and Fro
It’s difficult to coerce creativity, nothing good comes of it. A dumbfounding claim that gives me pause and yet I do not wait. To and fro, to and fro, to and fro. Up. Panting, heaving, patiently charging until my body breaks and demands a moment of respite. And in that moment the levee breaks, unleashing a clarity otherwise alien. I sit here, I sit. Pupils gaping, mind adrift, suffering tantrums of lucidity and adoring the prospect of chronicling my treasures.