The Writer’s Life

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 Writer’s Life


This room buries, consumes my messy desk!

It haunts me as does a dish in the sink.

Clothes lay unbothered on my bed. I ask

God, stunned, what is all this? Silence. I think


the writer’s life. Flash, boom! I am reborn.

Drink it, before it turns. This is fresh milk.

Past pain, future delusion apart are torn.

Slaughter when, would, if; questions of that ilk.


Lady Truth gives two facts! We are, are not.

What holds between both is only our breath.

Take stock of right now. Now is the whole plot.

Imagination’s Achilles heal? Theft.


I embrace and allow the waking dream!

A mix of hope, heat, against despair teem

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