Mary Shelley shot a bolt of lightening

into me;

I’m not sure whether it entered

between my legs or through

my eyes

but suddenly I saw stars

and the very atoms of the air

crackled with infinite potential

and malevolent design.

Inspiration is right in

front of me-

I will create a literary monster

and then nurse it

into full health.

I won’t abandon the devil of

my desires,

the blinding angel of my ambition

torments me,

snaps at my heels all the way

to dinner and then haunts me

through the moonlit hours.

This monster we create

or which we find inside of us

and gaze at longingly

has the power to consume us-

unless we devour it whole first-

swallow with a smack of

the lips,

crack the whip,

let the words morph

and sear and



One thought on “Inspiration

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