My favorite way to write is to start in a library of any size or shape
and to pick the literature off the shelves in a hap-hazard meander
Pulling fruit from the ripe vine of those with the audacity and tenacity
to publish, to share
To put their name on the spine of something permanent

I build a fortress for myself, a fort of thoughts and ideas
I shield myself in graphic novels, in mythology and cooking magazines
Like shopping at a grocery market where I needn’t check out any of the food
And no manager admonishes me for
running my hands through the produce

I share that quiet space with the others who seek solace
Some homeless, some students, some yearning for access to the internet
And I flip through the random assortment of text whenever the inspiration falters
Reference to the obsessives who have determined their lives work to such minutiae as
the yarn work of the Appalachians
the letters of Freud to his dog
or the grand promises of
Understanding What God Means

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