Birth Of A Poem

How do you drag a poem
like a reluctant cat,
digging its rear paws into the earth,
hissing and spitting and flapping wild-
into broad daylight ?

You stare at it wordlessly,
and let the fuzzy wuzzy vapours
in your head, congeal into words
so you could spit it all out?

Or you force the internall chatter
for goodness's sake to subside
into a lakeside placidity
and cut it all into diamond chunks?

Or you allow the uneasy
queasiness bubbling inside
to come retching up like an idle volcano
and then move your astral self aside
to let the columns of fire rain
till a rock garden builds itself
where unbroken monotony ruled
with an iron hand?

Or you slip into the half-self-mesmerized
state : on the brink of dreams,
and let the vitriolic emotions
etch their gruesome designs
on a soul forever hungry for more?

Which ?

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Max Babi