The blank canvas
Scrawled over with words
Ink splattered at a furious pace
Writing, rushing through an imagined race
Fingers as feathers brush softly
Yet swiftly
And cover the snow
With courses of midnight skies
Scattered among shifting stars
The words a dancing pattern
A passport to land among
The outer reaches
And break the confines
Of a cluttered mind
With ideas that trickle from the head
Drip down the arm
And burn out from the hand
Setting trails of fire
Tracing over scorched paper
A formerly blank canvas
Charred with the mind
And the words
Of an artist.