Incubus
Upon my back all day, all night, he clings
Immovable as fabled Sindbad’s Old
Man of the Sea; arms strangle-gripped around
My neck, legs locked about my loins. He goads
Me on to write whether I wish or no;
Torments my brain with multiplex ideas;
Compels me to respond without delay.
If I don’t meet his expectations he
Insists: “Repeat the exercise!. Rewrite
The phrase!”. I have tried everything I know
To dislodge my unwelcome conjugate;
But he will not be fooled, will not let go.
All day, all night, he clings and crows: “I am your Luck,
Your Incubus!. You’ll never get me off your back!”.
