Monday, February 13, 2012

cruel muse (you tyrant, baby queen)

surreal feeling; ambivalence
about my own life or death. How strange
to write these very words. (and to see them here)

so frightened of the unknown;
yet far beyond flirting with a likely outcome.
a time and date of my choosing.

(but how does the worker bee reach
the queen? given the desperation,
the ticking clock

a kind of rolling departure window.
aren't we all rolling in that window?
death; universal, often unexpected, so final.

(I thought it would save me,
but it broke me—
the great 'muse—views' rhymes 
subtle as a stench. like carrion.)
At once, I'm recoiling in horror—
swerving into a sudden sanity; reality—'manic'—
that my "lifetime nest of word offspring"
--the tiny ones just experiencing release--
might perish in a destructive melee.
(the master has only begun the oeuvre.)

I will go from one 'bright' party room
to the next,
even brighter and then—brighter
I will plumb infinity-and celebrity-
with such a grand, diabolical plan. Meshuggah.