One too many cups of coffee and the ideas flow. But flow in a meaningless, disconnected way, that flow only after standing, sitting, surfing, pacing, that flow in that interrupted - start-stop-start sort of way, a trip to 7/11 as I'm hungry and there's no way I'll make it until work, the diet of processed sugar and simulated protein makes me pace even more until I finally decide that maybe some whiskey will help to take the edge off....
These half days of work, they're dangerous. Whole days are worse.
From the current work in progress: "Chalk Circle":
"Her suspicions implicate me;
She first chides and then berates me;
She binds then interrogates me
Curses and imprecates me;
Her tongue raising welts
and blisters on my skin.
She conjectures gross transgressions
she imagines indiscretions
She conjures every vile unpardonable sin;
And while I'm wholly innocent
Her unholy tirade circumvents
Any attempts to placate her,
this fury won't abate and
frustrates all efforts to sedate her
Her wrath is senseless and drips drips driveling from her chin
Her opinions have secured my conviction."
Given that I had only planned for the entire poem to run a couple of dozen lines you can see how things get out of control. Blame it on the caffeine? Certainly I need an editor, but on the other I think I've somewhat captured the personage, the spirit, the natural language and reason of the jealous lover. And so I'll leave it for the moment, there are other verses, poems to be worked upon, and funny how problems will just solve themselves the moment you leave them alone and stop worrying them...