Blank Page Blues

Start something already; a maniacal little project that
sifts and sorts, removes debris and confiscates the mundane.
Hey you: mind abundant, eradicate yourself
of all this mumble and chatter; like disembodied
spirit talk rambling half- lived ideas at the back
of this over burdened, bulbous brain. Stop!
Start this thing already; a saga, a novel, a
speck of dust.

And you, you naked page, with your four straight edges
and your placid, white faced grin; what are you staring at?
You think you can mock my half- baked attempts at seducing
you? I can tear you to shreds, throw you in a trash can
and you'll never see the light of day again. You bastard!

Within your four straight edges, I am about to contain;
restrain a wild concoction of flustered, flummoxed,
confrontational letters---a kind of ran-sacked
alphabet soup; a soup du jour with no beginning,
no middle and no end. Just wait!

Unseasoned, uncensored apparitions of my past,
I'll draw and grab you to feed the appetite. I'll cackle and howl,
throw out the waste, summon all that brings joy and all
that disgusts, saturating page after page with the passion
of a bloodied sacrifice. I'll conjure you to rise forth, rip through
these pages of which I speak, and burn! I will. I will do this just
as soon as I can stop yapping about it and God damn it,
start this thing already!