What forces me
to invent
hush
add
relocate
alter?
Death’s hoof
jolts me,
makes me spill
even now, i cannot
hide it, my urges
out of their bed
rising like well-kneaded dough
like well-shaken champagne
Every night i wait
to hear God’s voice between the lines
and remember
My memory is bulked
flowing over the brim
surging lava
I’d give a kingdom for a good poem
I don’t need consolation
so long as the Prompter is giving me
the verses, line by line.