I’m sitting in this chair…
And I’m having the fight of my life.
My eyes force themselves wide, to take in the light-
Ignoring the fact that I want to close them.
My fingers… fly across the keys making love the keyboard….
My attentions softly caressing the screen- wooing her into compliance…
And poetry is born.
Intimacy breeds birthing which breeds legacy…
As I wage this war I am conscious that some part of me will be left here…
Something wholly unable for me to regain, but incredibly capable to replicate, and ice skate, where others have slipped and fallen.
My living child.
THIS is why I fight this battle…
THIS is why I duel slumber unto the death…
So that the punctilious life of others buried in the womb of my avant-garde creativity may be released….
I fight this battle wearily-