I’ve been up
  all night
slow dancing
            with the reasons why
                         my canvas is still mostly
empty and
  my palate
  holds only
seven shades of black.
  While I’m weeping
through a
 Foxtrot with
my paintbrush
        and daubing
     midnight
stains across
my walls
the Hollyhocks
still bloom
        outside my door.
      The humming birds
    adore them
standing tall and
lavender
  but I can’t stop
   to waltz with them
I’ll lose
this beat
     and genius
        that fickle muse
will quickstep
   on
and leave me here
behind.
  ljm