The Effect of Me on Some Night Writer

Many are my muses who move me to wonder.

I dog them with a lunar vengeance and a fury.

But sometimes the gamma rays criss-cross

Or voltage varies from lightning’s pulse

And I become the almighty muse.

I shock, tempt, charm, insult or inspire.

How amazed I am to see myself leaking out,

The effect of me on some night writer

Penning into the wee hours of the moonscape

Unable to cease until all nuances are shaded in,

Until the last drips of blood crack on the page,

And the last glass is emptied and

Finally, spent, there is nothing left to say.

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Brenda Bishop Blakey

050912

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