Glad it Wasn’t a Raven (repost)
So I climbed atop my writing desk,
Sat still and quiet for a while,
Not in front or underneath,
To stop the verses running wild.
There was an air duct next to me,
Attempting quite to suck me in,
I felt myself lean toward it,
Wanting to squeeze between the vents.
Desirous craving is not helpful,
Many cloistered men have preached,
If I succeed and quell my passion,
Then what compels creative reach?
So I stay balanced with my books and pens,
Attention there under my nose,
Still I allow imagination leeway,
Sometimes I follow where it goes.
– April Resnick
Because I sat on my writing desk again today.
sometimesihatemycat 