All Cylinders

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

Penned.

Then all is cooling and ticking;

Expansion contraction of thought pipes.

Sated- until the next firing.

 

© Tom Tide 2016

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