Many of the greats drank
What an excuse
In the strive to find genius
You slip into a fiery cinnamon liqueur
And you don’t come up
Until the 600-a-day are penned
Or you’ve drowned
Between the hissing and the burn

Many of the greats slept in
What an exemption
In the quest towards inspiration
You slip into dream shoes
Walk a dreamy mile
The sun ripping into your room
Setting your darker belongings ablaze
Your eyelids, dry and stinging
The curtains could be pulled to
If you pull yourself from the throe

The biggest of us didn’t work
Their passion poured into a typeset
Sunrise to sunset
Debt to woeful debt
Room to room-and-board
Forsaken by family
Forsaken by God
Their pride undoing them
The weight of their worlds killing them
The kiss of a cultivated protagonist…
A good-bye kiss

Whispering against your cheek:
“You are here by right
“Or you are here by accident
“But no one chooses to be Great”

I am not a writer of my age
(As the greats are)
My legacy will follow after me


Lay an Egg

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