a brick upside the head

Last time I had a skull-splitting, six senses and a cab, full blown poetic explosion like that was when I was sitting at my desk in LA and "TRIUMPH" burst forth from me, along with the pantherdemon vision, which I have never released the poems of and will not this side of the grave (but I did tell her about them).

But these are not of old bones, these are of peppermint and cinnamon and the smell of vinegar in an autumn cider press house. Fire, so bright and hot you do not feel it burn you, you see it, then realize the damage is done and the light was all the warning you received in the silent echoes of memory.

Hmmm...some interesting material here for a poem. Or two. Or seven. Or seven times seven. Or...

I smile the smile I reserve for moments of clarity, and begin to write.