I have been suffocated, strangled
My words cut short and the flow
Ceased
My back is broken by black and bulging beasts,
Whose sadness seeps from strike to skin,
And their laughs lord over me,
Low, laying lying and losing life
They flay my face with a flowered mace
Ghastly gashes gooze and gape

The repeated raptor reaches into my open cadaver
And takes my artist’s Arms:
My microphone missile,
My Paratrooper post-mail,
My Phalanx Paper,
My Killer Keyboard,
My Tactical Typewriter
My Black hawk Black Ink

And hides them away from me,
Behind seals of guilt, anger, fear and duty
I am locked. I am shackled
I am suffocated, strangled
My words cut short and the flow
Ceased . . .

My Muse!
My goddess!
Let the body be brought out of chaos,
Thou lover of my soul!
Make love to my being
Let thy fingers draw patterns of love on my skin
And thy breath cloud my cynic’s vision

Light my senses ablaze with a lover’s fire
And my passion be brought to life
Renew my poet’s mind and my writer’s
Body.
Let your words seep in my ears
And my lungs fill with a new air
Let me become white glory,
My passion set free,
And my mind ever on thee.