every waking thought
is the flight of a monarch
before each bud that blooms
she gathers
from both hemispheres
left and right,
like her wings
birthed twins,
where every waking thought
begins
- as a first breath
- and the last gasp
where dreams become life
beneath the cloak of midnight
gaining momentum
churning vortexes
of hurricanes
such raw passion
complicated
never simple
a thought
is the genesis of energy
the subconscious of the artist, insane,
writing words such as this
solely to prevent the skull
from bursting,
spewing bits of memories
and rivers of tears, endless
that never run dry
a place where angels reside
sitting upon clouds
of sentences
the most holy poets -
sending telegraphs
to the chosen.
© Susan Marie 2013
