My head is a menagerie of story ideas,
I lay and I feel it,
A flurry of beasts in flux,
Roiling flashes of fur and scale,
A flipbook without continuity,

Alligators built of angst nipping at the walls,
Wolves and bears enacting throes of action,
Swans of romance,
Nosferatu of horror,
And pudgy felines of political discourse,

These ideas scratch at my corneas,
Striving to fly free of this enclosure,
I have the keys at hand,
To release them one at a time,
Put in transit in swathes of ink.

Comments
  1. The writer’s gift indeed!

  2. Carol anne says:

    Good one! I enjoyed it! ❤

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