THE WRITER'S DEN

The Naked Writer: How I Lost the War of Words (But Got It Back Again)

Coffee fueled invectives

   Stained against the pages

Burning my forked tongue

  With half-mumble iterations

Oh how they howl

   See how they run

Half-baked exhortation
Scribbled by moonlight, or by sun

Making no sense of my neurons

   A million thoughts stuffed in a sack

Hail to thee oh chaotic process

   Electromagnetic ink stained flits

Straight from the mess

Scribbled  thoughts, whereabouts unknown

   Wired, alive; they deviate, wander and lose themselves  

Through fields of the imagined places whose denizens wander;

Wander town to town

Straight from the horse’s mouth;

   What is written on the subway walls?

Turn on the light and you will see

   Ecstasy, Symmetry, Poetry

The internal struggle; the last gasp;

   The last desperate attempt,

one last swing;

   One last kick at the can;

One more fabulous fling;

    I weigh the prose and cons;

The lights are down, it’s the empty stage;

   There was the idea, the poor struggling fetus;

Born in the ether, died on the page

Only, reborn somehow;

   Reborn; re-gifted; resurrected

Those penumbral lines, those darlings murdered

   Those treasures we find, bury, and find again

Those roads gone further

I have but one life to give; one thing for the pain;

    Inspiration locked in a trunk
And the key down the drain

Two thoughts diverged in a wood

   And I took the one less thunk