Sometimes When I Write A Poem Poem by Bullion Grey

Methods of Madness
I reach down, down I go, deep to the inner depths of my soul. I retrieve feelings symbols of thought, and scoop them up to carry to the air, still hot from the flames of my passion.

As they arise they become concretized, formed into directions of knowingness, something hard to describe. In that knowingness I look for shards of emotion that can be arranged to authenticate them.

Then I polish some, others are good as they are, and start to cry the tears on my keyboard, the tears which are actually words. I let them cool for a spell and try to do something else, like watch mindless tv shows or pace the floor thinking about thought.

Then when they are just right, or ripe I should say, I cast them into my notebook, just as they lay. For a time maybe a hour or a decade I let them as wine collect and rine. Then on an odd day, just like today I open to a one that I forgot to say. I then send it out to the world and hope, hope, that it will save someone or at least be entertaining in some way.