Is It Coffee In The Blood
I don’t understand what the hell’s going on,
the pressure boils over and makes verbal song.
Something has struck at the side of my mind.
Now I know why a poet is found
distracting this pressure with basic desire
rebuilding the dam using sexual power.
Tonight I could break, tonight I could die,
tonight is the night I ask myself why.
What is this need that impels me to write
what is this need I find I must fight?
why must I wander, why verbally roam,
Why must I wander, wander alone?