The beginning begs to be coddled,
make this right, turn left here,
gloss over their eyes.
Prepare them for battle.
Send them in with spears
that they actually want
to use against the ink army
of plot and conflict,
thick and angsty,
the knotted briefs of the
chronically imaginative
and hormone-laden.
Let the character devour
the mind of the writer.
Detach from the body,
writing, the only exorcism
for spirits that beg for life
on page in prose.