inti (july '93)
there is nothing as intimidating
as a blank sheet of paper lying in front of me
with pen in hand
and a heavy heart
attempting to filter
the few good morsels of thought
that come to mind
with the brainless garbage accompanying it
the writer must wade through the murk
seeking influence from places
seldom seen
thinking in thought patterns he may at first shun
anything to move pen to paper
for his own survival