Colors collide… careen… crash…
“Paint with me”, they beg
Words whisper and wander…
“Write with us,” they plead
Inside the tiny vastness of my mind a storm rages… waves of imagination crash against a shoreline of bone… seeking release from the confines of the individual… yearning for a larger stage.
Words long to dance where people can see them, songs wish to be heard, colors dream of covering the canvas of the universe.
I can create universes inside there…. but I must somehow send them off into the universe out there…
How sad that to let them out, to let them live, to share them, they must be funneled through my fingers on this keyboard, or onto a canvas, or carved into wood. Or they must flow through my mouth, sung or spoken, reaching so few people at one time. My hands and my voice are the two small gateways between two infinite realities.
Pouring my art out is no easy task.
Pouring My Art Out 
Nice! Indeed, art is not as easy to produce as some speculate.
Nope.
where ever or whatever, you have rhythm, keep on pouring in the real world, amen
Thanks so much.