Taut BowIn a surge of emotion I sometimes ride bareback the wild horse of expression, to shoot down with the drawn bow of words my gracefully gliding thoughts, which leap with such vital flow among the dense thickets of inspiration. Yet, when at last they are mine, and my bow strikes them down, I dissect them all, tearing out their viscera, the whole organ systems of experiences and stimuli that once nourished the wild game hiding from my questions in the forest of universal unity. And now, with glassy gaze, they lie merely as dead trophies in the blood of insight. What a sacrifice... ...the thought...
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