My day job has put me to task to interview and transcribe a million and more famous people. Here's something from a meeting from a half-remembered dream
Good morning Poetry, please, sit down,
make yourself comfortable.
Q: You look tired yet fresh faced, how old are you,
if you do not mind my asking?
A: How old is time!
How old is the first breath of the multiverse!
I am as old as existence, as young as now.
I was there when this universe was created,
dancing along the veins of fiery lines.
I am as young as a newborn baby,
a brand new thought leading to the keyboard.
Q: You seem to be everywhere in the world,
what are the things that inspire you?
A: I am everywhere in the world. In a blade of grass,
unseen in the wind that laughs breeze above it.
Inspiration, the dreams that linger on the eye, waiting to float.
The colours which drive beauty into verse.
Life and death, smiling inside the circle.
Inspiration is but a whisper away, my muse is my breath.
Q: You mentioned colours in your previous answer,
if you could be a colour or a scent, what would you be?
A: I would, indeed I am; every colour in the rainbow,
swirling into each other, grinning like a pot of gold.
As to scent, fresh baked bread, morning coffee,
the decay of vegetation, of flesh in a field,
I am all of those and everything that is.
Q: What are your thoughts on prose?
Do you ever get angry with her?
A: Anger, joy, fear, love, hate, jealousy,
all the emotions harbour me, I roam their intensity,
push and pull their waves - prose, I am prose,
the underlying matrix of words.
Q: Don’t chide me for this question.
But do you poetry use drugs?
A: Ah! The sweet labour of nature.
What are intoxicants but aids to obscurity.
Defy them, they still come to me in the night.
Take them, they still lose my expression.
Thank you Poetry, for being so candid here in this little chat,
perhaps you can help me with my cantos later?
Poetry smiles, takes off her microphone and drifts away.