Steal From Me

(for Joel-who wanted to know where the picture came from.)

Steal from me
The ideas are not mine
They are in my head
And gone
Quickly if I don’t use them,
Wisely,
And fast,
Than they are gone and past.
Or stuck in clay
Through heat
And under paint
In either case
Away.

Steal them from me
There are a million more out there.
Like fruit
In the air
To be picked
Or to fall through time
To other fertile soil.

I have food
And I am not worried
That it will run out
On the road.
I am never lost
It is only at the edge of sleep
Once each day
That I confront my weaknesses
And blink before it becomes light.
Steal from me—
It is alright.