The one and only time when he truly, wholeheartedly, loses himself
When nothing else at all seems to matter
Scribble and scribble ’til those hours run late on into the night…
A few good words, then suddenly
Comes the rather momentous flicker of light
When the A.M. fights it out before entering the P.M. again, the pen falls by the wayside
Done all that he can do
Happy out but not entirely one hundred percent too sure
Never ready to let it go
Were they not always this way, those self-critical, show-pony poets?
Poets who will never know it
Splitting hairs atop a fickle, over-abusive chair, ’til something, anything manages to spill
A Peroni beer – the perfect pill
Fears fall, vocabulary opting this one time on the opposite of stalling, at least for a time
The absolute right kind of ointment, no such fly inside
Except when it came to the God awful tequila – that stuff will steal your mind
A blasphemous, venomous worm caught napping
It seems the pair of you trapped for all of eternity

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