Written February 6, 1978
I have chased images all day
Butterflies couldn't be
More elusive.
The Muse I've never met
Didn't bother to show
I thought I heard her sneeze
Somewhere in the kitchen sink.
Oh, images are fine
It's these half-baked
Unformed pieces of my imagination
That get me.
They've been flitting
In my brain for weeks
A side view, new beginnings,
Fragments, jostling together
Then gone, gone
Disappeared no less.
Perhaps they live
In the pit called my mind
And come like bats
From their caves
Swooping under street lights
Only to disappear into the night.
It's funny how some of my strongest thoughts of the type you speak, come to me when I'm somewhere between asleep and awake - when the mind is completely free of editorial constraint. Rare indeed.
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