I spit the last of my teeth into my palms
and pry them from crimson gums,
trembling hands cup them in d e s p e r a t i o n
offering payment to the muse.
my mind trudges as slowly as a frozen screen— but i
tap and tap and tap
and tap and tap
and tap and tap
and scream through clenched teeth.
i hear about meteorite showers and howling winds,
aurora australis and
fairy wrens in the garden,
dolphins in the bay and
my father brings me home shells
but i never see
or see
or see
my muse. She wounds me, flirts with me.
the paranoia of not writing quick enough
grows beneath my finger nails and nail-prints
embed themselves into my palms
I can feel something inside me changing
and I’m terrified it will disappear.
she dangles fleeting thoughts but I would
sooner swallow the sun than beg
for a star. This fire inside me burns like hell
and to hell with waiting, what if she never takes over?
what if she does?