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.

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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

