Where is my muse
lost in pixies dreaming over Hollywood hills
parties over gleaming cities,
hidden houses,
quiet roofs
Gilded eyes suggesting otherwise
tugging on grey peacoats
fragile Virgo risings
Beings of the sea
of scorpionic lust
drowned in ***** with lemons from the tree.
Beatnik drunk,
Bukowski wannabe
Missing keys
misplaced by a Neptunian tragedy.