Write

Write

Write, write, write,
I want to write upon the tablets
And fill them with the hot white jets
Of my inky life - the only life I know
The only life I’ll ever know.
Lying prone, as the Muse
Lowers her tight moistness
Over the stiff head of my pen
Poised towards the tablets of the open heavens.

Juicy, jerking, writing, squirming
Sending my monument of life
Against the heaven’s reams
Waiting above me to taste
The stain of independence and my soul’s song.

Right or wrong, I write my song
Along the inside of the Muse’s thigh
Tonight, in flight, across the
Heavenly expanse, sans pants,
Of she who descends from on high
To lower lovely thighs
Upon my ready pen
And make me sing again.

To song, song of my schlong,
So long, it aches with warm wisdom
Stewing within, again
Lifted up on high
To write unwearied words
To defy all time
As winds which wear away
All the words we’ve ever heard
And yet, each time they’re worn away,
Another hand will write them there
And dare the wind,
Again, again, again.

~