Alone in the darkness of this May Day morning, I can hear the droning of my muse's air-raid sirens. Waiting for the next explosion of words drives me crazy like a moth flying into the summer fire.
word-bombs
slash the alleyways
of my mind...
the feel of a black tip
moving across the page
word-bombs
slash the alleyways
of my mind...
the feel of a black tip
moving across the page
NeverEnding Story, May 19, 2014