mileage report on hold.
as inspiration surges.
and fingers begin process of typing
head feels full but blank
and you admire the music
and it enters
you.
and it makes your fingers, dance...
over a keyboard
in a room too crowded
its a (silent) escape
silent?
only because the body remains motionless...
is there a connection here?
are you "glocalized"?
who do you write for?
who do your fingers dance for?
does your inspiration require admiration?
whose repertoire are you archiving - who is your audience?
dance.
sing.
paint.
and colour my world.
