This poem is another tip of the hat to the mystical muse that passes down poetry from on high. Poems often strike in the middle of the night or early morn. The hours are odd, but they are integral to making sense of my life.
A Thousand Poems A Go
I have been impossibly struck
In the same plays
As lightning
My lode
The Muse
Cursing me with the inescapable
Tsunami of words
Undamned
Reckoning my whole life
Accrual mistress
A thousand poems a go
