Hastings seafront, December 2014, photograph © Dominic Blackwell.

Muse Fire

by Dominic Blackwell

It’s the time that you find
that the things that you think
that you’re doing are just not that good 
and the places you are heading for are not
the broken diamond palaces that cut you in your dreams,
and it’s then 
that you see it now, feel it,
that right up there, 
in the heights, 
in the molten ruby sky,
stuck right there
in the place 
where the world drips flame-haired ire,
and the running, spinning wheel just never stops moving,
light lacerates your sight,
so phenomenally bright,
that you can’t stop seeing it —
have to find the way to drive on, do it,
never ever stop trying,
pushing brick walls away, 
max out on the flow, then 
smacking out a wound-tight rhythm, 
that will flash, let ignition slip
drop the hammer, leap the gap, 
got to kill preconceptions, 
back right up, then take flight,
up to there —
where the muse-fire lives

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