Joey Comeau
Writes things I sometimes don't understand
They're like little bones in a tiny
Bat skeleton
I don't know what they mean
Or what they do
Or how they fit in the whole scheme of things
But they make me feel powerful
And that's mostly good

Joey writes sentences that start with
"I want to"
And end with things like
"Break into an old lady's house and tell her I am the FBI"
He writes sentences that make me think
Of all the things I want to do
I want to crash my private helicopter
Into the side of a mountain
But escape just in time
I want to write like Joey
Simple sentences that hold the world in their hands
And crush it a little
Just because

Stephen King
Writes books that sometimes scare me
Right back to the second trimester
Right back to fetal position in the womb
But he tells the stories so well
The actions are so true
I believe them all
And I know I'd never be the hero in a horror story
(I'll be dead in the first twenty minutes of the film)
But I get excited at the prospect of reading
Because it requires less running on my part

Stephen wrote of his drug addiction
And his mom's cancer
And his ****** jobs
And his alcoholism
And his multiple failures before his success
And his loving wife
And it made me think
That even though I'm an itty bitty little person
With but one life to give for this universe
Maybe, just maybe
I can make it
In some scheme of things

1
*Gongs and drums sound rambunctious,
a wild rhythm tears the silence of the night,
a slow number first, then in quick time
racing fast,everything ends in a blast.
his self control lost, he dances like one possessed,
in the moon lit places and shadows alike.
This angst is not his alone, he feels,
as if mad at the way the world these days is.
Freedom of a special kind, it was, catharsis,
drums sounding mysterious, made life different.
                               2
Once when he and his girl were making love
deep in his veins drums rumbled,
and he couldn't but stop and listen,
she was curious,"What is this, what do you listen?"
smiling, he resumed his dance
thorough the valley and plains, like wind,
to the tune of temple drums,
his hair flying and sweat pouring  like rain,
she could catch the change of rhythm
intense love was there, in the depth of fury.

Then, they ended up panting,then lying quiet.
holding each other tight,she said;
"you are like one possessed, fantastic,"
but he had felt the presence of a third,
he felt in his bones,
a benign female presence, who is she?
                      3
The oracle holding a sword with a shining blade,
wearing a red silk turban and a white **** cloth, told:
"It's the possession of a woman, a wild spirit,
her songs and dance were snuffed out
at a young age, when it slowly emerged,
it happened at a time we don't know when,
a kindred spirit, your tumult suits her soul."
the oracle was in a trance when he opened his eyes,
"Not a curse, a blessing, symbiotic it is"
the oracle  threw a bit of holy ash on him and said:
"Well son, in you Devi, the mother goddess
is pleased, this spirit will survive,
her speakings will come out from you,
all will be just fine, being kind you received her,
so pleased and contented she is, wouldn't disturb"

They walked together, the woman without a body
to fulfill her dreams or sing her songs,
at times of loneliness the drums sound,
she comes in to his tumultuous soul, he makes her alight,
in their entwined destiney, he sings her songs, they dance.