Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the poet's old tongue
laid out to squirm on the table

the paintbrush sharpened
like an ancient arrow, then shot

across the universe, the G string
stretched to capacity

it's the fire inside
that place you cannot put your fingers on

that dancing spark

the artist is a vessel
sailing on a sea of imagination

lapping waves with messages
in bottles of smooth green glass

it's the Infinite Jest
the tears of the ghosts

it has to happen

the elements always collide
the genius is in the respite

the ensuing explosion.......
the big bang

<* *>

the paintbrush or pen, or, or ... yes, you can't quite put a finger on those fires.

thanx for the feedback
i was wandering the pages
like a man looking for a way out
there were walls of poems
built high, day after day
it was warm inside
I recognized some faces
my heart rate slowed down
my eyes dilated, my chest rose
kaboooooom