Poet in a Hurry

I am a poet in a hurry,
impatient to disgorge
my torrents
before they shall be damned
by the stilting
of the brain's dead cells;

furiously engaged
lest insiduous senility
shall staunch my streams;
enraged
by atrophy's encroach
upon the channel's purity.

Verse is my emetic,
the enema prescribed
to precede parturition,
and, in defiance of
the last prostatic twitch,
my aphrodisiac.