The creators
the artists
the lovers
the mothers,
the poets
the gardeners
and so many others,
are looking to sprinkle
the earth their own way
with dapples of color
punching down disarray
of sorrow and pain
and of teaspoons that measure,
creating a world of immense torrid pleasure
of curtains that puddle and sweep up the floor
of fabrics that beg hand to be touched some more.

Creators are looking to loosen the bow
and looking to make words that nobody knows.
They're saving the scrap of a rag, for a quilt,
and watering hot sage, so the plant will not wilt.

Creators are not bound
for they are the source
of wandering
wondering
who cares if it fits- -
if it looks good
and smells good
it's probably right.

But if you want structure
consider the source,
it comes from the place of a tired, tight heart
of stamp pads
and Xerox®
and computer grids,
and clear mason jars
that have tight-fitting lids.

Or you can be creator
of life that you live
drinking Kool Aid®
from teapots with
polka dot lids.

Don't you want
to SHOUT
gospel songs
from the back row,
and know that Creator's enjoying the show.

Don't wait for a dare
to make you take a chance;
creating's a choice,
not a choice happenstance.