The Inspiration Is Uncanny Tonight

A thin layer of April innocently sits on these open pre-summer pores of my face. Rejuvenating my existence as if I was being born again. Hunger seems to be knocking on the walls of my belly Which I find absurd – I had just eaten an hour ago.

Inspiration, too, knocks on the walls of my skull Which I find uncanny because it has never been this loud.

I feel connected to almost everything around me. I feel one with my pillow case, One with the dark, One, even with the saliva I swallow at regular intervals. Which of these I wish to write about? I am undecided. I give allowance to natural enlightenment, thus.

If there is a force that wants me to include its name on this note, settle upon my lashes and tickle my eyeballs.

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The inspiration is uncanny with no definite shape.

It knows not what it wants.

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