Illusive muse
Where did you go
How long must I linger this time
Cruel sweet Mother of Songs
The wide eyed child poet waits
somewhere in a closet
behind the skeletons
behind the guilt
where confidence was spiders silk
and glistened with geometric truth
The muses danced around me
holding candles
they were dressed in primary colors
they moved the pen
again and again and opened doors of ink
One by one they moved on
each waving goodbye as she danced away
Now I grasp at abstract straws
I milk the thick and drying sap
from strained memories

What was once a labor of love
now struggles to be a love of labor
I stare blank into a starving white sea