The cost of intellectual property has gone up.
I can already feel the ideas curdling like milk,
Strings of silver silk lining
Tangling it up so neatly--
A package for the loan-shark in my bed in the morning.
A message to my lover, to whom I owe such a debt:
All you ever do anymore is take.
My poems crumble at the touch,
Fading into the clusters of Sunday brunch and Family Guy reruns.
What's the price of the two seconds of quiet
Without a pile of unfilled lines awaiting my autograph
Ruffling through the papers you'll have me sign-
What wouldn't I give to sign with the devil, over you...
Teetering on the corner of thought,
My pen limp and balanced between my fingertips,
Like an unlit cigarette.
What I'd do to be out of this deal,
no heartstrings attached.
You lean in to kiss me,
and I forget how to breathe in anything but you;
Did I ever really need air
You moved into the empty lot
Where my notebook used to stay.
And all I could do is shake my head at the bitter change
and think, well, there goes the neighborhood.
Even still, the price of living has gone up.