i am not an artist,
i am a conduit.
a demonic infestation,
is wanting
to be let inside.
it whispers to me,
softly, “let me in.”
banging.
banging.
banging.
oppression, followed
by the possession,
begging for an exorcism.
the most diabolical haunting,
the voices, they echo,
the walls, pounding –
willing me to listen.
the yellow wallpaper,
moving, telling stories.
and the illustrated man
sleeps.
dark corners, become alive.
everything looks so different
in the darkness.
pick up the instrument,
command it to move.
one stroke, and then
another.
is it fate,
or fluke?
magic
or genius?
i am being played with.
a voodoo doll,
violently shaken
like a rag.
the mortal pawn,
for the universe’s
divine hand.
THE LONELY WHITE WOLF 