semi insomniacs’ site

Never quite sure what a poem is supposed to say, I just start writing. Let the pen hit the page and try not to judge what comes out. Ink blots instead of knots in my neck. I call it externalization when I take the stuff that’s troubling me and turn it into art. Chaos rearranged on the page. Give it a try.

In the shower before bed, warm water runs down the long muscles flanking my spine. I’m grateful. When soap gets in my eyes, I use my fingers to find the crevices of my face. Probe the cheekbones. Massage my jawline and eyebrows. Feel the release of tension which is actually what is needed in a poem. Rub up against the tough stuff and express it.