Inspiration
I’m condemned to write poetry
they superglued my left hand
to the side of an always open laptop
modified to be impossible to close
turn off
or dim the brightness
my cell is small
there is an oak barrel of bourbon
a cold keg of malt liquor
and a gallon of black ink
to refill my pen
there’s a crate of notebooks
"In case you get tired of typing."
there are piles of pulp fiction
speckled with copies of literary classics
there are mounds of poetry compilations
from the greats and from the fringe
my right hand is free
it’s currently occupied by my tin cup
“Spill on that keyboard all you want.
It won’t break.”