The scribbling pauses
The static in his head subsides a little
It'll have to build to a pitch, again.
Will it ever stop, for Pete's sake!
And who in tarnation
is Pete, anyhow?
Pete Pecker pecks at the writing machine
like pigeons pecking at crumbs
dropped by a bum in Central Park.
His obsession to write is his will to escape
Hop on, all you bleeding hearts and drunkards
Zero to 60 in one deep breath
It's what keeps us toasting
the sorry, old hag ---
The Muse of Suffering
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