This Time the Page is Waiting

This Time the Page is Waiting

This time the page is

waiting for the poem.

No need for the lines

to force their way

on to it ,

and into to it .

There’s no violation

here this time,

only a white willingness

of the page

to be inscribed

with the blackest letters,

as permanent and


as a ratio

of golden means,

that is

pricked and inked

into the page


as it

lays spread out alone.

Today the poet

is an ink artist

in a skin parlour

with a willing client,

who asks for the inscription

to be made,

regardless of the pain.

From “The Black and Other Base Elements ” by PWChaltas

Disjointed Muse

Disjointed Muse

A disjointed muse has hold of me.
Crossing  city streets
aimlessly with a knife
at my back
and a blonde woman
walking  in front of me ,
wondering  what it would be like
being hit by a speeding car
and in a millisecond
a broken bag of bones …
But let’s save that  experience
for another night .