Each night in dread anticipation
I await a visitation
By a guest named, "Inspiration".
Sequestered in my smoke-filled den
Prepared to quickly let him in,
If he should visit me again.
As minutes crawl and hours fly,
Without his having yet stopped by,
I remind myself that I...
On many a long and barren night
Swore I'd give in without a fight
And "Nevermore!" attempt to write.
Yet, here I sit, awake once more,
As so many nights before,
Mind a blank, eyes red and sore.
Perhaps he needs this indication
Of my unceasing dedication,
To this, my chosen avocation.
In truth, I think it's in his head
To come when most of night has fled,
And I've given up and gone to bed.
8/28/83
**Published in The Advocate, 1993**
All of us who write experience it from time to time.
