Froggacuda's Weblog

If you would only punch out my heart
An spin my head right round again
With that electrical discharge of brilliance,
That revelation of ultraviolet split-second,
When the idea’s dagger is buried
And the closet door is opened,
Contents spilling like freed puzzle pieces,
A mess I can just shake my head at
Just reaching for the paper,
For the pen,
The muse.