Making Art

I have been suffocated, strangled

My words cut short and the flow

Ceased

My back is broken by black and bulging beasts,

Whose sadness seeps from strike to skin,

And their laughs lord over me,

Low, laying lying and losing life

They flay my face with a flowered mace

Ghastly gashes gooze and gape

The repeated raptor reaches into my open cadaver

And takes my artist’s Arms:

My microphone missile,

My Paratrooper post-mail,

My Phalanx Paper,

My Killer Keyboard,

My Tactical Typewriter

My Black hawk Black Ink

And hides them away from me,

Behind seals of guilt, anger, fear and duty

I am locked. I am shackled

I am suffocated, strangled

My words cut short and the flow

Ceased…

My Muse!

My goddess!

Let the body be brought out of chaos,

Thou lover of my soul!

Make love to my being

Let thy fingers draw patterns of love on my skin

And thy breath cloud my cynic’s vision

Light my senses ablaze with a lovers fire

And my passion be brought to life

Renew my poets mind and my writers

Body.

Let your words seep in my ears

And my lungs fill with a new air

Let me become white glory,

My passion set free,

And my mind ever on thee.

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