They say

“Just be still and the words will come”

As if muse is aroused by boredom

Every poem – a journal entry

Cataloging life’s sedentary

As if “still” isn’t a luxury

For working class folk

To be alive is hunger

And work equals a meal at pay

Don’t tell me

“The poem comes with the silence”

Knowing silence

Has mortgage unpaid

Blackout

My art needs legs

A running work

Full collection of get down

And brash boogie

Every syllable

An invitation

To duel for your patronage

Even the page

Shivers under the weight of

Ink and provocation

Bleeds out when pressured

So how could I resist

Breathe in life and

Breathe out “still”

This poetry has got to

M O V E