What if there’s actually no such thing as talent
and those of us who are supposed to be talented
are just the one proverbial monkey, among
infinite other monkeys, who has something
clever come out when he mashes
the typewriter keys?
Talent is irrelevant; we are defined
by our actions. When we cease to act
we get all fuzzy and require
squinting to be seen.
I have to keep writing or the magic will wear off
and I’ll turn back into soot.