Ars Poetica

by John Fleckenstein


A force field that protects me from the world,
A channel that turns sparks into fire.

My fingertips break barriers
And run though an open field,
Stamping footprints across the plane.
They grow as they escape the capital confines
Into a world of proverbial scenery.

A vast field of thoughts
and ideas between my toes.
Underneath my feet,
the virgin meadow is now imprinted
With my soul.