ODE TO WRITING
ODE TO WRITING
When I write, I can feel the Source; it’s a Force that feeds a need in me. I find a clear channel and my mind sight can hear the light open in it, soaking in it. Editing fine-tunes the frequency to clear the bass, heard way out in space; to delight the Divinity. It’s an off beat, street wise, half jive, syncopated, annotated rhythm and blues about living and dues. A sort of contorted, distorted, inverted, converted iambic pentameter, that’s my parameter. A measure of pleasure; quiet heat with a subterranean beat.
When I write, I can feel the Source; it’s a Force that feeds a need in me. I find a clear channel and my mind sight can hear the light open in it, soaking in it. Editing fine-tunes the frequency to clear the bass, heard way out in space; to delight the Divinity. It’s an off beat, street wise, half jive, syncopated, annotated rhythm and blues about living and dues. A sort of contorted, distorted, inverted, converted iambic pentameter, that’s my parameter. A measure of pleasure; quiet heat with a subterranean beat.
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