Till I am full

I’ve had a couple days marathon and now I feel a lull, wonder what I’m supposed to do with myself until the next marathon. I keep thinking I’ll find a system and get it down, but it never works that way. The only thing I can trust is that it will come again and to keep my eyes, nose, throat, heart, toes open to whatever wants a place in me for a while.

I’m one of those sucker fish cleaning, eating algae off the side of a fish tank or rocks in the ocean or even other fish. I sip in and spit out what I can’t use. Or perhaps my spitting out is what the poems become. ha. poems as regurgitation. That’s not a very pretty way to think about it in the end. Calling it some kind of magic seems much more suitable.

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