Inspiration is sweat, driven out
from its pore, the inhabitation
of destitute, waterless fields
with a heart like an ocean
and eyes built right up
to the lakeshore. Devotion-
a peculiarly loud clanging
bell that rings like no other,
mournful exuberance climbing
the stairs, a stubborn existence
that pulls out each hair as if
plucking fresh roses, pruning
weed from the vine. And Love?
Feeding on poison, surviving
its kill, a cripple crawling towards
window to speak to the moon,
the pink-pearly shine of a question,
the answer- a personalized key
to a more personal Hell; freezing
without feeling, burning without
healing, a hole in the chest's wall
larger than Russia, miles upon
miles of misunderstandings
and still, we endlessly
travel there.
