I rarely write at my desk,
I mostly write in bed,
Stealing hours from my sleep,
In the evenings or mornings.
Sometimes I write on the train,
Tapping poetry or prose into my phone
As the driver whisks me to my destination.
Then there is the odd coffee shop,
Corner of a family function,
Where inspirations strikes,
And demands my service.
Every place becomes a place for words,
A place where truth transcends time and space.