i hold the pen
like a penis, erect
thoughts swell, throb
against my palm

moist with eagerness,
like a virgin,
i pull and stroke
massage the page
rub against it's edges

teasing and tugging
deep within the inkwell
of my womb
conception begins

i am impregnated
ideas grow, pushing to be
free from the pen
from between aching thighs
from my swollen chamber
of thought

born into a world where
ink flows like cobalt wine
ideas blossom on blue cherry trees
poetry, a language of ripe truths

as poems spill from me
i am renewed
born-again virgin poet
dipping my pen deeper
with each thrust

but unlike sex, poems
always come like
the first time

08/30/2002

Posted on 08/30/2002
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