Produce

Once again I put pen to page
Spill my guts on a wood pulp stage
Laid out flat and bleached to white
The pen is crisp and potent in line
I take a motive and an inspired verse
And I start right there unrehearsed
As I venture again into the mind
Of a thinking ape with words defined

With cleaver thoughts I begin to scribe
All those things that I keep inside
The ones suspect and the ones unknown
And the quite ones I've left alone
These thoughts have feelings and those with words
Speak up now so they can be heard
And in the back of my mind I apologize
That I once again shall write of troubled lives

The words come forth up my stream of thought
These salmon of muse climbing up the rocks
One word arrives and then two and three
They spawn together in revelry
Delighted by their products I continue on
The words continuing in a dance drawn
In the ultimate gift of give and take
As the salmon fall before what they create

I try another line that isn't there
The once fruitful waters now empty and bare
The stench of demise fills my nose
As my upturned eyes look at product bold
And with the kindness of a bear I arrange my crop
In steady lines bereaved of love
As I sit on back in my soft wicker chair
As I smile at the products of a madman's despair.