fingers on a pencil 

put the pencil on the page 

and let your mind seep into the cracks 

between the lines. 

fingers on the keys 

click clack, click clack

let the noise drown out the distractions 

and your brain transfers. 

these are the vessels of creativity 

the boat to the shore 

the car on the road 

the plane back in the airport. 

but behind my eyes

and inside my skull

lies the true magic. 

wait

go lower 

inside the bones of my chest

the pulsating muscle 

the blood of imagination

the capsule of possibility 

the heart is the brain of feeling. 

a poet does not think with their brain

they write out the feelings in their heart

and perhaps this makes no sense to you

but to me it is simple knowledge. 

so as i tap, tap, tap away 

as i bop my head to music of sadness

a smile

it is 3 in the morning 

and what am i doing? 

sleeping, no 

i listen 

and the flavor of a poem is born 

do i sound like i'm on crack?

indeed i do 

but this is the fruit of my love 

this is what's born from true passion

as my fingers on the keys 

click clack, click clack

i sit

at 3 in the morning

an idea!

oh, just wait 

alrighty so that made no sense but i decided to let auto-drive take over and yeah- you're welcome 

Question of the Day: do you ever feel like you're on crack but really your mind is floating somewhere in space?

Prompt of the Day: do what i did; write a poem that makes no sense to everyone else that makes sense to you