All these brilliantly shining currents
Like waterfalls gushing out the earthen vessel.
A tragicly equipped troubadour tantalized
By living, at the movies,
Nodding just so.
Dangling above it all nearly.
The vision is almost pristine
The way the muses' hand stroked cross wise.
With every notion of that mysterious pen,
breeding for purity.
The stammering presence of
His voice conquered worlds,
Til the ink became blood;
The precious muse poisoning 'til the pen was like a needle crawling
Over the skin of existence;
Leaving an honest, filthy trail
of bruised dreams.