In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

Creative Constipation: Day 101

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Belly bursting, bursting  bile,

God help me, like an Alien scene

only no interplanetary mission,

no gestation, instantaneous im-

plo-sion, ack! Not in, EXplosion.

Guts gone mad, spinning mad,

how long before the impact, the

reversal, stopper down, til brain

bit-splats paint walls splotched?

Constipated concentration cuts

in deeply, threatened blood spill,

but nothing comes, not a dribble.

Struggle, struggle, eking drops,

dripping platelets, life stuff til

death dries blood, water-plasma

to crusty nothing, like this spell-

dry, buds nipped, fount sprung-

out, nothing left but tensional

growth, crescendo killers ready to

pounce position, bow-arced-arrow

drawn, and still nerves fray-swell.

No celestrial tandos to write, no

rondos or gallyups to plug, ply, and

pen before nightfall’s dark clearing.

Expel, breathe, steam out, the moon

is pinched inside itself tonight too.

 

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