go forth through the night
not uttering a sound
keep your head low
and face to the ground

don't tell them your name
or date of birth
bank account info
or how much your worth

don't offer your palm print
or the color of your eyes
too much info
and everyone dies

the gathering has begun

I had it back in October
as the autumn leaves took flight

But then in chilly November
I became aware of my poetic plight

December has arrived
and my mind is still blank

I'm in desperate need
of some fuel in my tank

The words escape me
my mind I can't use

the burning question
where the hell is my muse?