Imaginary Images

Vintage Words


I think the clearest imagination lives

in the center of my mind. It is a

concept so esoteric the prose police

throw up white gloved hands that 

say please. Muses everywhere say

it is so.


Ask a poet from whence the  denotation

of  a righteous concept comes. We are

content with the answer as over

accuracy affects the DNA in the brain

adversely. There goes the writer,

looking up again, eyes like flashlights

searching for a worthwhile star

to sing about.


What we have here is a clear moonlit

sky. The outcome leaves watermarks inside

the paper's rag content. Beams from

starlight frosts the edges of anything

left out in the night.


Come what comes, these moments allow

inspiration. Common as a dish of favorite

food, words are written down. Inevitably,

the writer transforms and is made of papyrus,

conformity being mundane. It is better and

more aesthetic to love a good pun than to

accept someone else's defintions.






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