Monstrous Poem

If I could only build my own monster-

put it in a frame of some sort

measured, calculated in a detailed report

so i can face it, maybe we’ll talk and have coffee.

 

and maybe we’ll fight the last battle,

but my monster is elusive

metaphysical, slimy but corrosive.

it cannot be touched, nor measured

It’s only felt.

 

my monster is the failure of building a monster;

of congregating fears, doubts and pains

into a bundle to become ancient remains.

but my monster is hard to reach

 

the night is dark, and monsters usually come out in darkness

but it’s at night that i write poems-

the battlefield of loss and victory.