No Epiphany. No Fireworks.

Wanting to find a sense of a profound moment in the day even though, for the most part, everything flowed in a mundane fashion. Read over some poem batches from The Centrifugal Eye, a few surprised me with their quality. Now however, at the close of the day, little rises to the surface— I may delete this entry in fact, when the time comes for posting. Although I want to be honest as possible— today’s material lacks major impact. No epiphany. No fireworks. Just routine. Following the path as it flows forward.

•53/ a dry abandoned well, half covered in moonlight
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