You have a kind muse .
My muse is over there ,
bemused at my insolence ,
never to be trusted .
She will say anything to embrace me
and laughs like a witch .
We fought one night
and I killed her .
Buried her in a shallow grave ,
went home and threw
another poem on the stack .
There was a knock later
and I opened the door
and my muse was standing there .
She spit dirt in my face ,
and we fought again and voila . . .
another poem goes on the stack .