addicted by Kelly Zen-Yie Tsai

addicted
by Kelly Zen-Yie Tsai

i marvel at those reckless artists of the world

the Amy Winehouse/s
and Rick James/s
who
screaming stoned cracklin high blown out of their minds

tumble downstage
slap on a guitar
grip the mic and

comBUST
for hours

demons / haters / and paparazzi gone

for those moments (and those moments only)
none able to deny them their gods

most of the time
i feel like im filling a thousand and one shotglasses
each to an even level of water measured to perfection
i skim a metal ruler across their tops to persuade excess

spillling /i wipe and begin again

maybe an artist’s life is inspiration only
and the rest we delude ourselves to say that it is simply our own

if rain falls from the sky
we can have our buckets ready

gauge the atmosphere
with fancy instruments
measure the girth of the cloudswell

or forget the sky

prop up and pour from a garden hose with a raindrop nozzle
directed into our hearts
our brains
our pens
until full

ive been talkin shit about inspiration
glaring at her through plate glass

door closed
i go have a smokeless smoke out back

she comes and goes when she pleases
does whatever she wants

expects everybody else to line up around her desires

what a crock of bullshit
a diva / a horrible partner

what of these hands that have been so diligently ready to work
what about this mind sharpened to execution
what about these lips that tangle with the shape of every word
what about these eyes who hunt every street scavenging for the captivating and new

they keep the machine running like a bread factory
testing sifting teasing rising dough setting them down the conveyor belt

they arrive golden brown and satisfied

but we know that none of them taste as sunkissed or honeyed
as when she lingers in the doorways afterhours and decides to go to work