5/14   yesterday’s poem could be called a muse poem. I write them occasionally, inspired by a woman, who gets some physical description but soon the poem is talking about other women, other things, phenomena, as all the poems tend to do

I do not sit down and write intentionally. I feel I could write a poem any minute if only. Some of the if onlys involve the when and how—do I have pen and paper, can I get in physical space where I can focus, am I still relatively sober. but even given all the needed physical conditions, there has to b a spark, an inspiration. its like muse is a subset of inspiration, loaded with some traditional, quasi-romantic sense of, sourcing back to sonnet sequences, courtly love. and what is love if not moving up a quantum of consciousness/life-energy?

for me the spark can come just because my head is so clear form being involved in a movie or performance. some words have to be the first ones and can’t be forced, some times I am so eager I’ll hop on whatever pops into my head and hope that takes me somewhere real. some times just being around the house, often early morning, maybe my head in  neutral mood as I just woke up (I rarely remember dreams) and a phrase or something can spark me. just don’t know when it will happen.