By B.K.
Date: 2005 Jan 07
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To Stephen King (On Writing)

I close the door to write you say
Keep thoughts contained
In their own simple space
You say it's Zen
But then
My mind starts to wander
My knees start to twitch
My throat starts to scratch
My toes start to twitch
My eyes start to roll
Then my hands start to write
What's with this shit
Oh the horror of this plight
You say use words you know
Of silver and or gold lame
Write as if you're sitting up straight
Instead of leaning on pillows
Piled heights of May
It looks like it works
So if you dish please pass me a few
New ways to express a lovers bliss
Just know
I don't want to split his head open wide
With a cherry picked new axe
Or light a candle in his eye
To crack hard into his mind wax
I just want to write a tender love poem
Or express the soft pearl of a perfect kiss
I want to write passion till it glows molten
So he'll know I'm a writing babe-hot-witch