Sporadic bursts of creativity

sneaking through the tiny windows of time.

This is not enough!

Flow does not abide,

by our measurements…

Hands ticking the moments away.

Fragmented, it all feels so fragmented.

Yet, below, sink below the illusion

and I hear the music of connection,

the vibration, the fundamental!

The basics, the blocks,

a language everyone talks!

And then my time is out,

beckoned by my bank account,

Fill me up! It whispers like a nasty

pornographic film.

So, I sacrifice another afternoon of word flow,

settling for a sterilized exchange of priceless moments for paper.

Until next time, dear rhythmic speech,

I bid adieu, my thoughts beseech,

and I resume,

The norm.

-Courtney Rose Battistelli