Frienzied Silence Poem by Robin Bennett

This is the same leather chair I sit at.
Made from the familiar dead cow, that
has coddled my body and listened
to my insane words. My finger prints
litter this desk of spotted marble, a
poetic crime scene. A birthplace and
death camp of phrases and rhymes.

Each day, punching keys trying to
create words from white letters. Making
sense out of a frenzied brain high
on black liquid gold. Silently praying
to a heaven I'm not sure exists that the
words will still flow.

I live here, I breathe here. I pour out
my heart, I'm held captive. I drink up
words on paper. I unravel nonsense.