fingers on a pencil

put the pencil on the page

and let your mind seep into the cracks

between the lines.

fingers on the keys

click clack, click clack

let the noise drown out the distractions

and your brain transfers.

these are the vessels of creativity

the boat to the shore

the car on the road

the plane back in the airport.

but behind my eyes

and inside my skull

lies the true magic.

go lower

inside the bones of my chest

the pulsating muscle

the blood of imagination

the capsule of possibility

the heart is the brain of feeling.

a poet does not think with their brain

they write out the feelings in their heart

and perhaps this makes no sense to you

but to me it is simple knowledge.

so as i tap, tap, tap away

as i bop my head to music of sadness

it is 3 in the morning

and what am i doing?

sleeping, no

i listen

and the flavor of a poem is born

do i sound like i'm on crack?

indeed i do

but this is the fruit of my love

this is what's born from true passion

as my fingers on the keys

click clack, click clack

at 3 in the morning

an idea!

oh, just wait