Wondering if inspiration will ever emerge, Roaring up the steep mountain, Investigating how to create a surge, Trusting that your ideas will reap, Exercising the elusive muse,
I am sleeping in a five star luxury hotel in the middle of busy Berlin which I won in a writing competition. The duvet is made from premium duck feathers. I feel like a princess.
Turn off the oxygen. His vital statistics are going no where fast, Even his eyes are gone. Going to need the fridge, Roll him on to the stretcher, Is he dead or dying? Must be dying?
Still asleep, Inside the mystery is spinning, Levitate and forever peep, End each sentence with a long invisible pause, No moving lips, Travel around the empty room.
Teeth marks, like a shark’s maul. Animal claws linking to a human hand, Take a swig of brandy, Trust that the needle will finish it - One delicate probe.