EXACTLY WHAT I WANT

i am jealous of genius.
 
there.  
 
i said it.
 
i yearn for what isn't there --
that holy spark
that two plus two
that concoction of syllables
that drops like sweat
from the forehead
and becomes a novena  
a mantra
a spark or incantation
so that mind is hindrance
and soul
becomes translator
and
goddamn
it touches me
somehow
and  
how,  
how,  
HOW
does she do that?
where
does it come from?
 
those words  
set loose
rolling in phrases
but aligned
not dramatic
or melodramatic
or pretentious  
or clever
but simply there
put or born together
word to word
strings
of words
not forced
or stacked
but placed as though
by angels
to become holy
and true to some
strange piece of me
that sees it
hears it
knows it
somehow
and stands
like a dog
hearing its name
and says "yes!
you got it, baby,
you got  
exactly
what i want!"