Local Social Network for the Arts Community in Central Valley
He calls them
“the pretty little words that come out of your mouth”.
I must correct him.
They do not come out of my mouth.
They spill out of my pen,
via the finger tips and the sharp edges of my mind.
Because I write them down on napkins and
unworthy blank Forms of the 1040 series.
They are raw scribbles I cannot control.
I have to write them.
I am compelled by the sounds of the words.
By the feel of the pen.
By the pounding of the keys.
Silent music until I play it hard on paper.
A damn shame.