Muse

I want you, whatever you are, to abduct me,
to ravage my mind with bloody imaginings.
Today, I ate nothing but poems. Licked the
salt off their rims, snorted a basket of words
—your bones and flesh: you in that green shirt.
Bukowski, Rilke, Hikmet, Williams, Gluck
A mighty spread, fresh on my eager mouth.
I never understood hunger or poetry until this---
split my bones with tones, draw ink
grow words deep into the dermis—
the stomach, little knotty tubes of hope.