My muse has been a relentless, pushy bitch of late, demanding that I write, throwing ideas at me with the force of a hurricane, poking and prodding every time I try to fall asleep, screaming for my attention whenever I decide I’d like to do something mindless, like zone out in front of the television screen or play a video game.

I friggin’ love it.

So in honor of the creative chaos that is now my brain, I thought I’d share this little poem, which I wrote the last time my muse went on a rampage. Enjoy!

oil on canvas

“Danae” by Gustav Klimt (Photo source: Wikipedia Commons)


i shut the door on you 
‘cause, christ, sometimes a girl 
          needs a little peace 
    and quiet 
without words flooding her head. 

but you are crafty, sly 
and you know how to insinuate 
through the most narrow crack in the plaster 
the sliver in 
                  the wall 
like zeus becoming rain of 
to envelope royal danae— 
though instead of impregnating me with a demigod 
you fill me with poetry and tale 
till i 

words drip from my fingers 
ooze out my 
fall from my eyes like fiery 
scorching all they touch. 
and, fuck, i’d like to stop the deluge 
but i inside i crave it 
could never turn it away. 

it’s addictive, this raw rush of creation 
and i write 
with the mania that forces the girl 
        and her red shoes to 
do the dance-to-death 

i write, though my body is racked with 
i write, though there are blisters on 
my fingers 

for there is nothing else i can 
no defense to save me from 
your shrieks and cries 

i was born to hold this 

i will die clutching 
Enhanced by Zemanta