fuck me with poetry

i am lost in my art. in this poetic wilderness where time & society do not exist. the coward of me would do poorly at suffering slings & arrows, so i hide in my igloo armored with cusioned walls, away from the indians, with my pen the only divining rod that keeps me afloat, & all of the ocean's surface to write upon. up the quivering horizon, & further upward, & across the sky perched on my back like michelangelo in the chapel, until god spits in my face in his disgust. poems & dreams & miscalculations & roadblocks, periods & parens & the dot dot dot dash dash dash dot dot dot that nobody hears, and are therefore not there to rescue      
<<< me >>>