work continues apace
the Muse fickle as always
available at the rock bottom
rate of one pound
of flesh per day
no rest on Sunday
flatters me with
a line or two a day
some forked lightning
every decade or two.
For a poet born
while the red glow
of Trinity site
was still cooling
the Deathshand has
held off
but not for Michael,
the Mad Ox, Donna, GBIII or Wayne.
They have climbed
The Stairway to Heaven.
Broken Through to the Other Side.