Karen M. Rice


Her stream of consciousness marches across the page.
May Sinclair, leave me alone, you’re causing this rage!

She plumbs the ghosts of her forgotten past,
Thinking I’ve got the hang of this at last!

Her thoughts echo artistic efforts of yore;
If she just presses on she can write more!

Her creative muse resonates with the ilk of Van Gogh.
She sits and weeps. She has nowhere to go.

The mad woman writes, and she writes, and she writes,
On and on forever into the demon ridden night.