Here’s another old gem.

Pleasure

The words that breathe from within

separate my soul from insanity

and I'm comforted by the tactile sensation

of pen on paper, specifically.

The smooth, steady flow of my brain,

my hand, the ink on paper,

soothing me, smoothing me,

making me feel safer.

Insulating me from any of life's

unavoidable bumps and bruises,

better than anything else I've got.

Alone in my writing, with no excuses,

I am if I choose it, and my wish

is my own command to realize.

As hours roll by in my cottony womb,

my butterfly cocoon, I fantasize.

I frolic and dream and meander,

no map, I'm the treasure.

I write for the sake of release,

for the sake of beauty and art,

and I write for my own

pleasure.                                  03/09/98