May 11, 1998 (I was 53)
Nowadays I sit to write
with whatever purpose for initial motivation
knowing that it is only a game
to get me in proximity to paper
with a pen in hand
and that whatever will be written
has little to do with any thought
preceding the writing
It is a comfortable talent
something akin to navigation
by the seat of the pants
an apt metaphor
for an activity whose source
is conventionally considered to be
anchored in intellect
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