I sit here for hours, cup after cup of coffee, legs falling asleep, the hand holding the pen becoming bored, while I wait for an avalanche of words. As the rain falls, I hope a few will land on this page and over time become the elusive poem I am so desperately looking for: the perfect arrangement of words into sentences, with 3 or 4 becoming a stanza, and a few stanzas becoming a poem.
In the meantime I must cope with a bored hand trying to draw faces on the other hand.
