Making it up
I’m making it up as I go along you know
Each word, a flash in the proverbial pan
Not planned or expected, no forewarning or thought
Simply coming into being
As if summoned from the depths of who knows where
Extracted from the unknowable
Accessing this involves no process
No plan that I can derive
It just happens
By luck and the favour of the gods
No control and no guarantee of it occurring again
All that there is to do, is sit
And let the words flow
To give refuge to the train of thought as it is generated
And to record, for you dear reader
For what otherwise would be the ravings of a madman
Is here given substance, an audience
And purpose
The capricious zephyrs of my soul
Out in the world, free for all.