I want every word
I type or pen
to be profound
touch the depth of being human.
I’m a savage snake in a box
by brevity or levity
wholly constrained.
At the mercy of my mind
my motivation, my pain.
Nomadic hunter
following my creative buffaloes.
I fashion weapons out of words
hurled from flesh and bone.
Look to the stars for inspiration
sit motionless as the moon glides home.
Stare until my eyes dry and glaze
the sky my kiln, glass-blown.
Constellations tesselate
usurped from their thrones.
Every word must matter
I strain, I groan.
Come hell or high water
I will squeeze blood from this stone.