Process

I wrestle with the page. 

Its lines are

chainmail to my

pen’s dagger nib.

How hungry I am

to fill a page

with song. 

How sick I am 

to do so

that I cannot face

the bland disappointment

of a sentence. I press

and twist to try and

crush the words to

submit under my will.

This is it -

the pen is broken

and the ink is spilt

the words are written.

 This poem is taken from We r all one, we always win, 
available through etsy:
                           have a look at the book here...