I usually start with a single haunting image written at the top of a page.
Persephone peers out without blinking.
Backward, echoing, mirroring
It is provocative to postulate
He's seen enough of his mistress preening.
Clouds of blue and yellow remind us of our home.
As odd as this might sound, I think I was a "writer" from my very earliest childhood.
And, then at some point, I said we should only do rejects-like dumpster diving for poetry.
Dimensions but not directions divined.
Klee’s kids skin their knees
and cavort under
Leonard lengthening limbs