I met a girl who sang the blues…

 .

…and I asked her for, hell, any news,

But she just smiled and turned away.

So I went down to the sacred store,

Where I talked to myself, a little more,

But the man there said he didn’t particularly care.

And in the streets the children dreamed,

The poets cried, and the lovers screamed..

.

I stalk old water holes while praying for rain.

Seeking out inspiration is no trouble, really.

At least until the efforts no longer yield the merits, or simply can not.

Surprise is often the entire point of inspiration.

The escape from empowerment.

The freedom of choicelessness.

.

I sometimes wish I knew how to ask things of people,

rather than strictly demand things that are mutually beneficial,

while handing out what little I have anyway…

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