The fact is—this pen
rarely negotiates its flow
regardless of literary demands,
and even if it does, I might
forge my writing through it.
These are wise words
whispered to my students
each day as I remind
them to move through
life’s obstacles skewed
by reality and glimpses
of joy which meander
through a lived life.
This morning,
I yank myself out
off a sleeping pill
induced stupor
to begin a day
smothered with no agendas
nor desire, but
just to understand
myself and the reason
for eruptions in the dungeons
of my psyche offering
no answers.
How funny
that on some days
we sport glasses which
shelter us from
the perils of good and evil
and on other days
everything aligns perfectly
and the ink pours profusely.