Saturday, January 6, 2018


Watching a film
Triggers the process.
A swirling cloud,
A barking dog,
A worried glance,
A tune in the background.

It’s like stepping
On a land mine,
But the explosive
Is actually a muse.

Maybe not the muse,
Perhaps a cousin
Of the muse.

I met
The muse
A couple of times.
A he the first time,
She the second.
Likes to change
Its voice, its frame
And most of all
Loves to leave you hanging.

The muse
Has a bunch
of assistants.
They can
only take you
so far.
They aren’t
To do much more
Than, in essence
Put a band aid
On the feeling
That compelled
The urge
To put
A few

It’s easy
To sense
That a muse
Might be dropping by.
What you want
Is an actual
But neither
A or THE muse
Do what you want.

They provide
A glimpse,
A tease
Of a glimpse
Is more like it.
Fan dancing for the church crowd.

Just give me
A hint.
A clue.
One domino.
But where in
The long line
Does it stand?

You just
Get tired
Of watching
Other people’s

You’d rather
Reach inside
The vast
And often
Locked trunk
Of thoughts
And fantasies
And pull one
Out of the hat.

Put on some coffee.
Brew some tea.
And just
Get with it.

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