The Levee may have been breeched.

Incurious politicians and poorly translated ad messages, flip flip flip, university pages on literary reviews and writers forums, flip flip flip, my needle rooting through riffraff, pining for true muse, flip flip flip, he lives inside of his own heart, that's an awful big place for a boy to live in -Billy Bob Thorton in Sling Blade, flip flip flip, Dr. Strangelove's nazi-mania and General Ripper's paranoia, flip flip flip, my own recognition that its not damn deep enough, flip flip flip, my own recognition that despite the typical comparison of the human mind to a computer, mine is functioning more like a rolodex, flip flip flip, random anecdotes from Herodotus, flip flip flip, and still I can't pierce my own mind's crust of sundry pop culture data, flip flip flip, Andrew Bird, professional whistler, deeper dammit, flip flip flip, I begin to feel it flow.... I've struck the vein I was probing, and I feel its warm gush. The fluid of inspiration isn't deep red like spilled blood or even purple like my coursing veins, it's electric and golden, specks of robin's egg blue, occasional streaks of tangerine and bubblegum pink, and at times like this, when it is fresh and splashes out of me, it seems to radiate, like plutonium or something, so that I can perceive the outline of it flowing from my chest and pooling on my desk even with my eyes shut tightly.
Tunesmith:
zoomed by tertiary roadblocks
rumbling scraping cast-iron constructions
Heat blasts from the grill
sturdy orange plastics shred
as cyclical steel zips and shears
control is failing and paint chips vilely
the wheel off the road bouncing wildly
and spins away
the pilot wails, fear in his guts
the carriage of new
wrecked and smoldering
still,
but the devil's breath is close.

Crackling spite,
rageful tunings of
well-defined wrath.
Swaying in and out of
catalogued outrages,
crack, crack,
and steam whistles
from red swollen ears.
Despotic ruinous ire,
how swelling ego binds
its master's fate
to its odious will.
Carried to undying hatred
on the backs of bitter beasts
sick coats green with envy
hooves of thieves' gold
eyes that tighten your throat
with greedy malevolence
Why mount these damned
creatures and ride to Oblivion?
They rob that which is good
and defines essence
offering cold vengance
and emptiness
in return.
Don't buy in
live your life
let not this blackness
touch your soul.