intuition rarely uses full sentences
prefers single syllables
won’t move or speak from within a leash
brushes long strong whiskers against the edge of a strange idea
knows where to go swimming
finds its way through fog in the northern quarter at night.
intuition can smell a lie
and will shout with incoherent fury at me
for 3 years until i finally grasp what it points at.
intuition’s brave, blunt, unapologetic
accepts reality as it is
then enters a quiet room to meet imagination
expands to fill the stillness
picks up my pen
and writes a poem on its own.
* originally published online on december 25th, 2008