Racing a Fever Dream for Pinks by E. Samples

Maybe I should consult the devil.

Maybe I should embrace world-revving
nightshade sonnets until cloven
harmonies etch fountain pen rhythms
up and down my spine.

Maybe I should appreciate unaccomplished blank space;
Ride the empty page instead of enslaving meter and phrase.
Maybe I should idle-out, back to the ground and exhaust 
the weight of symbols and how to choose.

I don’t know every blind curve and narrow 
but I can dare the dull blade and stare it down;
Ransom sanity for a moon, not quiet yet full,
and cut spills in a southerly cloud current 
slick-tinged with oil-fired flood tide.

Do I really need
future imperatives, perfect execution,
professional beats, lines, numbered
coordination;
Do I really need
anything?

There is a tightness in my jaw that tells me 
there is so much left to do.
But the devil doesn’t plan ahead
or clinch teeth at night.
The devil smiles and says: Fear not.

Maybe I should stoke bloodcurdling reveries,
jump the cliff and slipstream pitch-black miles;
Demolish each word that binds my Shadow Self.
Maybe I should hand over the keys 
and ride shotgun awhile.

____________________________________________________________

E. Samples was born and raised in Appalachia and currently lives in Southern Indiana. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Vamp Cat Mag, fws: a journal of literature & art, Black Bough Poetry, The Stillwater Review, and The Honest Ulsterman. She is on Twitter @emilysamples and Instagram @eesamples