The writer part of my brain is a boiler
Set to the playful timer of my muse.
No spark all day, then on a whim WHUMP!
Fires burn cogs turn never stopping heat and words
All a furnace, melting pot
At fever pitch flowing out to paper
Then all is cooling and ticking;
Expansion contraction of thought pipes.
Sated- until the next firing.
© Tom Tide 2016