Lust, Lust, Lust for words – a poem by John Ian Bush

Part One

 

I head now to the gas station:

I’m

Buying

Coffee

And

Cigars.

I’m staying up all night.

I’ll smoke, smoke, smoke and write until my eyes shut,

Weary

And

Dry

And

Sore.

I’ll exhaust myself at my writing desk: A labor of Love!

I Lust for Words.

I Lust to smoke all night, then drag my ash cover body, hungry, but satisfied, to bed at eight in the morning, just to wake up an hour later, eat a turkey sandwich, drink a glass of tea and start proof reading.

I Lust to leave the house at noon, aggravated, wrestling words, walk two or three miles, then come back with a poem on my tongue, a short story burning in my brain, almost hurting my soul.

My soul aches for my lust.

Lust!

Lust!

Lust!

I Lust for my Muse.

 

 

Part Two

 

Oh

My

Muse!

Sexy mess of dysfunctional beauty!

 

Untamable Gorgeous Monster Of Honesty and filth!

I Love You!

My soul burns for you.

Mind  obsessed with you!

Hours,

Days,

My

whole

life, you’ve consumed!

Billions and Billions and Billions of words won’t do you justice!

No

Muse

Is

ever

done

Justice!

 

Greater men than I have tried and failed to make something truly perfect and pure and beautifully true, but still we buy cigars and we buy coffee;

Still we stay up all night and write, write, write, write!

Oh

My

Muse!

The fire that burns in my gut!

Why bother with me? I can’t satisfy you.

 

 

 

 

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