It’s the essence
of passion:
the drive within
creative expression
that seduces me

into quivering
states of leaking flaccid ineptitude

within this mental posture
of artist’s mind

neither age,
nor logic,
nor formlessness

holds paralytic
the import
of so cherished
the left-brain world’s:
linear time,
blood-letting competition,
herculean feats of self-imposed deadlines,
and
stuff-gathering

where beating down
a greedily awaiting
death’s door
does not do

and our lives are ours
to live
with no rule,
but
to love one another’s creation