Taking Dictation (Poetry)

There’s a man I once loved who is stuck
saying beautiful things in my head
and he leaves me no space for my thoughts
he’s just got no idea that he’s dead

He’s a poet — a writer of songs
a musician who swings on a star
an immortal tuned in and turned on
who still strums on his phantom guitar

I’ve been writing for half of the night
my soul’s function is that of a scribe
I well know that my page would be bare
if his genius were still alive

He’s the voice that is trapped in my head
though the world is convinced he is gone
while the men in white coats doubt the truth
he’s the man in the moon playing on

Such a talent is hard to deny
admiration has made me his slave
but he’s driving me out of my mind
with his chant rising soft from the grave

And they’re watching each word that I write
how the lines spring so fast and so free
from a source I can hardly explain
or believe it’s all streaming from me

Am I haunted or merely obsessed?
Is some lunacy lurking inside?
No — the spirit’s invaded my head
of a poet who recently died.