April 22, 2010
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My fingers itch,
holding the pencil loosely,
doodling pointless circles,

I look to the sky,
My eyes dried up,
Like prunes, lying in the sun.
Anxious, I wait.

Imagination, locked behind
closed doors,
thundering for freedom.
I wait on the other side,
Attempting desperately
to release it.

I fumble with the doorknob viciously,
Jamming the key into the lock,
Jarring it one way,
Then the other.

Sputtering, dripping,
thoughts drizzle onto paper.
My hand flows freely,
A torrent of pent up images,
Pictures, stories.

Like raindrops on pavement,
ideas pour down.

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