My Writing Process

I might stupor in pot and steep in liquor,

Wrinkling in on my own enhancements,

Lit-preliminary before a drop stings my tongue,

Before a wisp of smoke swirls past my teeth.

Yet, it is not consistently fascinating

When there is nothing else to counter it.

Everything deserves a balance.

I melt my brain as soon as I expand it,

I solidify it once it shrinks.

Pursue academia, or chase the night with chasers?

I will choose both, thank you, and let each buoy the other.

Academia promotes the technical ability to write well,

And experiences breathe life into the content.

I refuse the concept “one or the other,”

Pretension or waste;

Separate, that is fact, and surely dismal.

But together, wildly lucrative, gainful,

Even fulfilling.

I will flock to evening readings, presentations of researched thought,

Art showcases in abundance, a composer’s live exhibit of his soul,

And any knowledgeable sharing keen to accompany me:

Eager to include all others, embracing us in culture,

Intoxicated with the chance to grow our intellect.

Then, I will celebrate as I see fit,

With explosive flourish,

Or through bright, aspiring, perhaps hallowed moments.

My process will be complete,

It will repeat,

And it will only end when I do.






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