Deluge
"No one ever discovered anything new by coloring inside the lines"
-Thomas Vasquez
Tidal wave rolling, roaring toward me
Silencing my challenging scream
I do not run from the sable shouldered crest
Higher than my head and blacker than willful ignorance
A Muses’ lifetime of ink
Pouring and smothering all that is waiting
Pages blank and yearning
For the tip of the quills pressure
Like a trespassing phallus
Desecrating the purity of the paper
Pushing beyond the acceptable boundaries
Of my existences refuge
Intent to fill the core of my dwelling
My being, my imagination
Engulfing all that is empty
White bleeds into indigo black
Staining my reams, occupying my blank spaces
My senses, my logic
Tumbling me upside down
And washing down my throat, my nostrils
My soul, my ego
Drowning me in the congealing blood
Of verse and testament
Rhyme and writ
Hardening under the laws of nature
Charging that there is no original thought
That there is "no new thing under the sun"
Therefore I surrender to the current
And meld with its script
Seeping through the fissures of
The defective deducing
Of the scribe inquisitors minds
And burst through the hatches
Flowing toward my brains creation
To the very edge of the Earth
Where I grasp the rim of its flat surface
Flat because I say it is flat
Flat because in this writing
I am the law, I am the originator
I am the creator
It is my pencils lead, my keystroke that says
“Let there be light”
I am the one who says
“Once upon a time” and “The End”
But then what can lie between those lines
That will not be a scab that has already been picked
My answer lies beyond this rim that I grasp
This out of bounds marker of acceptance
And the “no original thought” theory lies
In the wet ebony wake behind me
Questioning me as I let go
My answer is the wind blowing in my face as I fall
Through a chasm toward a ground
Of old ideas that rise up
To kill my expectancy
