- my writing masters me, seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing, it dictates to its enslaved scribe what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel - the contraries who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;
the she-muse offers me two choices: she wants a poem writ forthwith on the lyrical expression of depression and refusal is non optional
so I fantasize escape and that becomes her property as well; evidence against me to be used at my trials, the one where there is no statue of liberty from the limitations of prior bad acts;
I offer the she-muse two choices:
give me a cabin with WiFi and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,
bonds that tied me up worse when they were broken and the peaceful withering that won’t disrupt disturb nobody from a distance
my other choice is to bury me forthwith next to my parents and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant
muse says that’s no choice I own your voice stilled or not, will bill your soul’s account for denial of poetic services
weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad
the muse-***** cackles with insanity of delight for she accepts this writ as partial payment on her commission, whispers I love your lyrical expressions of depression that ****** recognition algorithms alert me that seizing time is nigh
there is no on/off switch for one like you: father son and holy ghost