The blank sheet
I never open with one
Normally an idea has already begun
I’m open
I’m free
I’m writing for me
What could be better?
A lampshade in December?
What does that mean?
It means nothing
No edits
No rephrase
Writing is what its all about
Ongoing
Not stopping
A freeform display
It’s most freeing
And natural
There is no delay
It’s over
It’s done
It’s out there
I just don’t care
Who reads it or not
No contemplating
The weather
Just my thoughts
This blank page
And me
Now full
And onto the next thing.
Little Mouse
August 2, 2007