Typical Artist Poem by Joshua Bantum

I’ve heard the lonesome writer speak,
He feels the walls call, circulating like hell,
“WRITE” they say,
“WRITE ON PERFECTION”
His stomach can’t digest quick enough
The alcohol he’s regretfully consumed,
His eyes can’t focus hard enough,
To see past the blurring lines in the paper,
His ears can’t listen past
The walls squawking like murdered doves,

I’ve heard him, dreaming, or awake,
He talks in riddles during both,
Terrified of drowning awake or asleep,
He faces death at every turn,
There is no place for the mind to hide,
Because it is hidden already,
no place the moon won’t glow
creating shadows,
because that is it’s purpose.

I’ve heard the terrified writer,
Scratch the needle on the record player,
Hoping chopan, or bach,
Beethoven, or Mahler will cage the beast silent
But the desk is waiting; it stands naked and silent,
A torture device,
Newly carved crucifix, freshly ironed guillotine,
And the pen like the lever we must pull ourselves.
Patient and outlasting.
We search out our death with every word.

I’ve seen the genius poet,
Seen him act, say his words in testament to himself
Dress in fine foliage of thread,
Clean shaven and sharply tongued.

Ohh yes,
I’ve seen the fine poet speak lightly beneath the rain,
Or heavily against summers sweat,
But I have never seen him write
a God Damn Thing.