Deadline

write another poem
they said
to meet the deadline

damn the deadline
my creative forces
are asleep today
I fear-I cannot wake
my artistic inner self
(don’t all artists flake out?)

I’ve been writing forever
on notebooks, napkins,
church bulletins (in place of sermon notes),
laundry boxes, book covers,
the back of my hand-
yet nothing screams
Quality Material!

where are my masterpieces
I formulated out of hours
of depression, anxiety,
infatuation and lust,
fear of death and sorrow?
where could they have gone to
while my imagination protected
the gates of my insecurity?

I know I have more to show-
somewhere…

damn the deadline
I have a poetic license
(wherever I put it last)

4-93