Inspiration

When I am bubbling,

when I am about to boil,

when I cannot expect my inspiration,

when I feel the most alone

and afraid that time stops and

stops meaning anything,

that is when I force through the membrane

with no time for diffusion.

A friend dies in a car crash

or any old-fashioned way that

sideswipes me down 24-East on a

Sunday evening,

myself speeding towards his funeral and

knowing no one.

His death reminds me of

my life,

meeting him at

the start of the day.

Taking 24-West the way I came,

I cross through Georgia

before I am alone

and it’s boiled over.