Between the hullabaloo of my assistant’s video game based explosions,
proximity to the HGTV program I’m using as eye candy/white noise,
and my muse’s conflicting desires to craft
both my 2014 Nanowrimo novel
and the first entry of this year’s “30 Poems in November” at once
I am in danger of getting a savage artistic Charlie horse.
Thought solves conundrum.
I’ve agreed to compose one poem each day for the next 30
where as a winning novel needs only to contain 50,000 words in total.
by November’s end; no daily word increase mandated.
Therefore, a decidedly non-balladic attempt at balladry gets
first dose of available creative juices,
despite my male main character’s protestations
which grow louder and louder inside my synapses as seconds pass.
“Wait, Jamar!” I tell him.
“Quiet or you might not get the girl…”
Brown, end of adolescence, author my brain birthed months ago
is as stubborn as his creator in the face of whatever police department
has the misfortune of protecting whoever has decided to oppose liberation.
“Yeah right,” particular figment of imagination teases.
“Remember, I know what a hopeless romantic you are!”
The part of me, myself, and I that speaks to my invented mind people
blushes a cheeky main character,
but cannot call him false.