fuzzy fluff

shape shifting globs
of wordsmithed wonder
sit dormant on my shoulder
waiting to be flicked off
like so much lint,
the fuzzy fluff
of insignificance
but clinging nevertheless
to my fingertips.
that these fingers
could someday pen
unforgettable verse
and mind altering prose
seems nothing more
than a reoccurring dream
of preposterous prediction
and pillow-suffocated delusion.

that my mind could mine words
to the depths of creative origin
or pluck unforgettable lines
and verse so clever and unimagined
enough to stain the minds
and touch the hearts of the masses
is absurdity of tragic proportion.
yet, for all that is irrational
on occasion,
a part of this insanity takes hold
and within the shudder of fear
there lays the faint recognition
of all that is possible
(though highly improbable).

"A passion-fruit sunrise
hung high over the horizon
this morning, this morning-glory
morning....." I read out loud,
pausing to taste the lines
of this latest write.
letting the sound of the words
slide across my lips
then sit on my shoulder
for a moment,
before rolling them
between my fingertips
like balls of lint waiting
to be discarded.

© Copyright claimed 2007, Debra Marlar