Brainstorm [Updated]

The ceiling fan. Textbook. Shopping bag.

The Laundry basket. iPad. Rumpled bed.

Searching for the best idea of the bunch,
like picking fruits at the grocery store, except--
most are yellowing or mushy. Rotten.

For a moment, I look up to The window--
it's offer, a browned brick building. Some smoke.

sirens whine not too far and cars honk impatiently down low.
The clock keeps ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock. Eyes stuck, staring into space.

Lids droop slowly, beginning to shut down, when--
an albino pigeon, feathers brown and white,
arrives on the 'sill, head twitching back and forth

Tap. tap. tap. TAP. The bird's beak jabs.

it's beady gray eyes squint straight on me
It's mouth opens and closes rapidly.
Is there something wrong with it? Cautious.

I suddenly hear "You seenka vuzan loss"
a soft baritone voice. Where is it coming from? What's it saying?

My ears open. The sounds focus. Behind that clear glass--

"You seem confused and lost,

in search of an idea. Can I help?"

I just stare but it continues.
"You seem to be experiencing what I call
"worm hunt". Us pigeons know about it.
It is a game out there, really is.

Only the fittest survive.
Name's "Stanley" by the way.
My suggestion is to put yourself out there.
Take a walk. Look around. Buy a coffee.
Take notes. Get inspired. Keep those eyes open to absorb."

I try to interject. What? How?
Stanley's wing goes up "No. I'm still talking." he says
"There is only way to beat this damn worm hunt.
and that starts by leaving your room. Do things. Engage with people.
This will give you experiences-- positive, negative. Who cares.
Experiences are writing material. It's simply the only way. Are you getting this?"

Eyes go up from my notebook. I've written this down.
My mouth opens and closes rapidly. But nothing comes.
This time, my eyes really open.
The browned brick building. No pigeon.

I can't help but grin. Papers all over my bed.

I gather them in a pile. Put them in my bag.
A pencil. Camera. Keys go in too.
Shutting the door behind me, I go on a walk.

The Silverado [Updated]

It was a dark muscular truck

monster wheels like biceps of steel.
On that night, the big hulk

 rolled down my driveway, size surreal.

A young girl hopped out from the brute,

"Rebecca, look! It's my new car!"

This must be a joke, what a hoot!

still, her eyes creased, smiling bright.

Her father traded cars, this just another pursuer.

Ignoring my shock, she squealed,
 "isn't he just beautiful?"

she climbed up the step, love already sealed.

Finally, I climbed in and reached my elbows out

to try to the fit the black leather throne

We were out of place, no doubt,

 like two chihuahuas in a lions den.

"Let's go!" my friend yelled, as she revved downtown

she spun the volume up to our favorite recent beat.

Singing the usual words, my shyness died down

 I settled deeper into the king-size seat.

There was a moment of simple freedom,

when we belted the catchy chorus in that truck,

the lights of buildings and cars flying past us,

creating linear streams of light.

This moment was of complete content,

as the air freshener rocked back and forth,

letting the wind pull our hair back

and the powerful stereo seduce us.

The fling didn't last, but that moment

of giddiness and invincibility lingers.