I flick my pen in the direction of the walls and the ceiling above.
A Cathedral of Vocabulary is formed around me.
Like the splattering of paint, words fly forth from my baton.
I direct a Fantasia like chorus, full of meaning and hope.
Mantras we recite and in those moments we are the moment.
I wonder my room can contain it all, as the jumbling ideas create a cacophony.
And like a climax my Cathedral catches fire and begins to burn.
I drink my Famous Grouse and savor the warmth of the burning words.
As I inhale them they form nicely with the flavors of my whisky.
I savor both and join in with the flames.