the religious poet ritualistically hides behind the lines peeking through the blinds trying to peer at a white star to define the kind of night that breaks through the window bright worshiping poetry when there's no where to turn the religious poet is listening when sound is asleep around three no later than four in the am mid the 24 time zones if set 1 hour apart the religiously ridiculed poet respectively knowing its true deity is poetry all seeing all listening worshiping God or others poetry is the adhesive holding it all together the poet lives and
breathe poetry being air in breath of despair creatively artistry is maddening disturbance of happenings to sin nature thin lines drawn to cross over to a sinister nature one who has answered the call must also accept and surrender to the fall spring summer & winter rain snow sleet and hurricane's with human names prints by human hands the true poet must take the wheel running over like a filled glass spilling over one cannot serve two nor too many if poetry's a religion then the poet has chosen it's god to worship some have suddenly dropped the pen and pushed the computer screen away can't face the sight of the haunting the truth the horrible spoof of being taken over by the one who wrote the poem Thought it was you? you? do not mock the clock the clock might stop mid the tock where you find time has stopped like appears the block soon as the poet has driven the fire away