The Heart of a Writer
we all surround our hearts with certain types of devices
barrier walls, some heated, coursing security
others cold and bitter
Some stoic and stone, keeping out the arrows
eventually one will sink through the murder holes
cupid will die laughing
I've seen barbed wire, keeping everything away
tearing at the soul
I figured writers could etch words out of those twisted wires
people staring in from outside with awe,
not that I would recommend for the sake of art
but the twisted image can be beautiful
red smears a crimson sky
flames of passion can be one hell of a craft
contortionists
we bend those spines back,
twisting at the chemicals running through
we live for that crack
addictive, seductive... it's nothing
but we reach for it every-time we sink a pen in
dabble at a typewriter
Twist those wires
sometimes the darkness is a solstice
I've had the sun burn out my eyes
twist my skin into a leathery smile
Cancerous and required,
but the night has spoon-fed me words
cradled me into its silence
and spit me out the other-side
rings of hope around my eyes
waking up to realize
that these twisting wires are nothing but silly puddy
and my hearts content -
steadily pumping oblivion.