The Master

I carry my notebook wherever I go,
for language won't stop its flow.
It keeps me away from sleep
and hunger and thirst,
away from company.

Even in my dreams
it writes and thrives.
And I am awake because of it.

When I let langauge be the master
it takes a hold of me
and I become
but a vessel for its incessant flow.

When I let language be the master,
I don't know
how to make it stop...
And why would I?

Its irresistable beauty,
the wisdom of its loving, honest touch
keep my fingers on the writing feather clutched.
I don't care about the smudges of ink
spritzing all over
as the pen bounces around
as if with a volonté of its own.

I don't want to think,
I just want to write
and let language be the master.