cities

all the forms brought all
their shadows upon the parks
and fountains

the forms themselves rarely
crossed the line unless
toppled

sometimes
weather systems forced them
to huddle together and
blend

they did so
reluctantly

for the shadows of the forms
made new cities

so heavy
were they

the homeless
lived there
on a currency of wine
and blankets

in the forms shadows
made

everyone needs an anchor

I am troubled for my book. I want an anchor to hold and keep her from dashing upon the rocks. There's been time and room to navigate these challenges, to circle and play, to figure eight, collide the waves. The surface stretches out like a canvas. I have numbers to make sense of it. I have broken her into lines.

Now it is late and the wind picking up. All must be sealed and lashed for the night. To withstand the harshest critique. She has to hold.

overcast

finite articulated outlined forms are no longer sacred. they may be one thing today and another, tomorrow.

our love is murky we cannot see the bottom. the light takes on form, passing through. my love for you is imperfect. overcast.

it never changes.
we can touch the sky.

momentum. writing process.

You got the scars and now you're seeing stars, you have your vision about you, it's time to write that story and see where it goes, take off all your clothes, undress the wounds. Let them see you. Finally. Picked up the slack and got your pretty self hitting keys with an urgency; that licklack-click-clackallack, riding the train high off your pain, maybe some beats to keep your heartened. What started as a dream became your work in progress.

Now if it's short blast, high frequency flash, sudden or smoke-long, well, you can pick up anytime and push it out. But if it's longer form and you have that kinda stamina, well, it's a momentum game. You will know it when you get there. Another cup of coffee. Don't forget to sleep. Don't forget to dream about it when you're waking. All the time I swear I have it in my head, that WIP. Cause it works itself out, only slowly, with undivided dreaming the plot develops in my emotional darkroom. The container must be sealed, shielded from social media and the drag of everyday life. The fabric stitched together, then torn apart in places and replaced, reconnected to the whole drive, thematic.

The water will be charging you, ionic bond to the vision. Watch out for the dam. When the locks change you may not be able to get back in so easily. Requires extra effort and self-confidence, sometimes. You might break in through a window. Recall must be superb, almost perfect. Next time you get that puppy tail wagging -peeing with unharnessed shaking excitement- take her out to the park and set her free. Stand in the green spring grasses looking over your WIP with pride. Carry the momentum to see your vision through. Let the words take you, and the pain fall, away. By the end? I promise -- the vision will carry you.