Wrestling with My Muse

woman_typing1

Yeah… riiiight… no that was not me this weekend ….. I have been crawling up the walls of my mind… wrestling with a stubborn poem that is reluctant to come out and just doesn’t know which way to spew … so after three days of editing and arguing with my muse I have come up with this… though it could change tomorrow…

Hollow Echoing Parchment

As on a breeze
she turns
flutters her eyelids and
words like wildflowers
bloom and spread                                 grasping
across the hollow echoing parchment
twisting like vines            verses
they curl reaching               beckoning ballads into empty hands
She sips sings sounds and they slip
tipped they spiral drunk                      down          into songs of savage soulful wading sonnets
Cracked black lines cut back
and indignant angry verses cross t’s, dot eyes              bare teeth                                                   Her eyes dark darting                             wide howling lonely windows
Stony-gray doll-like  stare back                                                                                                             Cursing looping words circle               circle                            circle down
drained until all uttered                      spit out               exhaled                  left vacant
All her tears             cylinders of want                            poesied and pregnant with rhyme
topple
one by one                                                                                                                                                  into the deafening silence of the vacuous white

muse

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