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For some reason, my muse doesn't let me write what I want to write, and I'm trying get some work done for NaNoWriMo, but apparently, I can't until I write a poem first.


So, here's my poem.
Your thoughts are, as always, appreciated.

Muse, you fickle lover
Appearing at my door like
a bohemian houseguest.
Inconveniently timed.
Crashing on my sofa
Eating all the Rice Krispies
Leaving your towel on the floor.

Waking me before the sun has a chance
to make the clouds blush.

An idea.

an INFECTION buzzing in my ear
scaring sleep away.
The downy doesn't drown it out.

In position then, pen poised (or poisoned pen?)
Listening to the quiet humming of the dark.
Folding me into its arms
to protect me from the light.

Scratching, scribbling, scurrying...
I'm done!
Back to bed to catch
a few moments of darkened dark, made darker
through closed lids.

Bemused, she cares not.

'2am and I'm still awake writing..'
A song!
Her most vicious trick
Endlessly repeating
Jagged, jerky, slipping back to the beginning
like a moving picture
in a penny arcade.

She changes the station
(Oh, Christ...)
there is never
an appropriate time
for Vanilla Ice.
Except maybe at reunions.

Throbbing bass becomes a vein
threading its way through my...
I'm under pressure,
(oh shut up, Davie,)
'Here's a little song I...'
(fuck this.)
Swiftly up and out
before the duvet has a chance to settle.

Unsated, she has won.
She always wins.
Not always...

Coffee bites my lip
bitter after sweet
Tasting of relenting
she laughs;

A throaty tinkling of bells
Welcome back, whispers the Dark,
and holds me once again.
Me and my pen.

Muse amused.
Good girl
Kiss kiss kiss

Created: Nov 06, 2010


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