Where's Your Poetic Voice

Where's Your Poetic Voice? How to render it contemporary, unique, one in the whole wide world? Be elusive, a multi-headed, myriad-brained grandchild of Loch Ness? Or be happy? The flow of dreamy happiness when painting a self-defined emperor magnum ice-cream. Never mind few can decipher its contour. Or be stark? Scoop out our brain cells, toast, fry, torch and swallow them. There is no response from the contented cherubim. Or be sexy? Visualizing a masturbating Moore, a naked Hilda Doolittle painted by her lover, a sex-frolicking Lawrence. Are we stepping into another shadow-snickering, ego-slithering, orgasmic war zone via some politically banned websites, this afternoon on this cosmos-wandering day? Ouch... my belly, my belly button, my entrails, my guts. Clogged like fat worms having unmitigated, obstructed diarrhea. Those rigid, hard-round stones stuck at the extruding point. Are they struggling to get unstuck? Are we struggling, perhaps secretly, to get unstuck from some life situation, a confusion, an obsession, some haunting movie scenes? Never mind now. Theories can't help now. Doesn't seem to help if a Goddess is inside. Please help. Please... wake me up. I just want to return to His bubble of memory. (Merton Lee, Singapore)