Click Page 34
Making it Write
It’s time to make a sacrifice
of what I love—my dearest vice—
and so, although I deeply care
about that which I now place there
upon the altar, neck laid bare
(“Dear altared ego, don’t despair!”),
I’m ready to endure their slice:
a transformation by advice.
The chop-shop crew comes into view;
the editors who might eschew
my language, and my verses, too,
(my muses screaming, “How Could You!”).
Some scalpel-skilled, like surgeons thrilled
to dissect every word I’ve willed.
Some tearing ’sunder for their plunder
words of loveliness or blunder.
May these wily alchemists
deep in the myst’ries of their mists,
with ancient arts and unknown ways
bequeathed to them ’ere dawn of days,
display the greatness of their skills
and while my failing heart refills,
restore to life my Frankenstein;
the effort theirs, the glory mine.