Another day surrounds itself around my awareness, as if time was a wardrobe I don and wear upon my senses, cloaking me in the realities my conscious moments offer me, covering my life with the functional styles of choice I am presented with, enabling me to display my self worth with all the confidence shown by any emperor newly dressed out in the latest fashion. I shrug into a well worn habit of actioned creativity and dress down the keyboard view to your eyes, touching your voyeured mind with the image of yourself reading these words. Looking good.
I submitted a spontaneously crafted poem to Poetry Magazine just now. I was inspired to do battle on the home front (back, actually) today when I looked out the kitchen window and saw intruders in my yard. Arrogantly disdainful and boldly unfriendly, they stood in territorial claim of what is mine, right and proper (the bank held mortgage ignored for the nonce). I dressed, gathered weapons, went directly out in the hard sweat of the day and pitched vigorous assault upon their claims, vanquishing their incursion and throwing them down like the thorny vine weeds they were. After my well deserved victory shower, I was compounded in inspiration by reading literature I picked up last night at the 8th Annual Printer’s Ball in Chicago. So I wrote a poem about my great conflict and sent it off to the magazine. Stayed tuned right here as they will maybe write back in about six weeks. You may rest upon the edge of your chair while you wait.