Bursting

I am a seed,
Over ripe
Bursting with

Words
Keep me up
At night

Reading
Writing
Spilling
Bursting
Pinching
Poking
Pushing out from
Below the surface

My skin
My head
My chest
My heart
My feet
My fingers
Hair even
Spills

Words
Contained
Only agitate
Compelled
To spill
My passion
Words

When I worked in Pioneer Square my second floor office window looked out over the corner of 2nd Avenue and Cherry Street. Nearly every day, several times throughout the day, I would look out and see “the Professor” braced against the side of the bank, bending over a notepad, frantically taking notes. Always writing. He had the dress of the homeless, poorly fitting sports jacked, brown/gray tweed, holes in elbows. Skinny. Bearded. Generally dis-shelved, professorial looking. I am on my way to being the professor. Always writing. I would like to compare notes with him someday.