retinal flare

Something profound whispers at the edge of my vision. Like a retinal flare it teases and jumps away, elusive distress. Pardon my
incoherency as I haven't slept. And artistic need now blares it's trumpet tenure. Astringent debt pulls my bohemian soul to it's climax. I obediently march to it's call. Artistic? Lunatic? Blessed with impressed words to share in my rapture. I know you must think me crazy. It's okay, I am. My goofy smile plays out the script I don't know who wrote for me. And still I scheme to catch a look, a glimpse even, of the answer flickesring at the edge of my sight. Look deeper, I say.
But
we all know full well: I have no idea what I'm doing. Still it's one step ahead of me. Ethereal epiphany. Sand through begging fingers. So I giggle, and smile, and wait for the next act. The story is written by a sleepless hand.

04.23.2010, 6am