Wednesday, January 26, 2005

The Rush

Euphoric sensations fly about
Like the many worded poems
Creation is truly wonderful
Like those obscure haikus
That make sense in abstract revelation
It’s the Osho-esque objectivity
That surfaces in the art.
When the brain and hand
Shut the door on the villains
Personality, ego and master mind.

The phone rang
And the thread is broken
When conversation comes in.


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