Linda Price

A writer begins

Patterns, motives, notions and potions
I sit, steaming and queer

Clutching and clawing pen to finger-nail
I curl coccyx into chair

Mighty moment and crumbling control
I pant, stamp and sweat,

reaching for mind afloat and surrender
I wade wide on teetering toes

Spreading scourge of ideas and identities
I pump and burst my heart

Flailing in rubbery red rhubarb
I feel my flesh fade fast

Balmy breeze brings shy kisses
I sink and bathe burnt breath

Opening eyes over pallid paper
I read remnant of kind calamity

A wave of wiggling words

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One comment on “Linda Price

  1. Linds, I just love this poem! You are describing the exact process I go through when I struggle to put paint on canvas – the curse of all creative people when the muse just refuses to sit on our shoulder or wherever he/she/it is supposed to be! Bravo, N.

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