These are the notes in the margins,

the scrap paper phone numbers,

the schematics on cocktail napkins;

ideas that come screaming in from the outer rings

and won’t stick around for scrutinizing.


These are the junk files,

the overflow,

the endless dross

from which is sifted


and baling wire

and steel, suitable for forging.


This is the naked self,

freshly awakened.

Before the shower,

or the sunlight

have had a chance

to kiss the skin,

still shedding wisps of dreams.


I share these with you,

so that you know I am real.

I want you to see me

as I really am.

A captured moment,

a flash of inspiration;


but I am here.



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