Here I Sit

Here and there

I am riddled with

Bites of Inspiration.

Nipping at me while I scurry through my harried day,

I am toughened by time avoiding their teething,

And swat them away as bothersome, useless mosquitos.

How foolish I must be to think they will not leave a mark?

Red and itching, I sit, uninspired,

Blemishes at my heels, too often left untended.

Old and New

How is it that something new

Can start out of something old

Which has risen, ripe, to the

Calm, undisturbed surface?

Swimming, web-footed, toward the light of day

You breech, finally, and air,

Exploding into the

Lungs,

You are alive again,

The stale breath mixed with

Tender freshness.