a product of his instinct,
why use
ten when
two will do,
and the ratio is increasingly
progressive!
**"lovely intimacy between poet and muse here,
like an old friendship-made of fatigue and faith"^**
the only reason why my hair,
yet intact,
despite old age's creep
in every other elsewhere,
although
Gibson's, his sixteen,
a superior concision
of my endless, repetitive iterations,
his literatation
nonetheless
is an insufficient
to cures what ills me…
to calm my heart, soothe my dreams ,
would render 99 of mine 100 muses,
and all your voices
ungainly unemployable
worsen yet,
the disheartening palpitations
that shake n' bake my very core,
them those demons too,
the contrapuntal hidden forces
that rue my brain,
well hell!
poet complains!exclaims!
for when the muses sleep,
these devils roam, they creep,
never permitting an easy sleep,
and instead of poems,
they give me forth in
groans and moans,
the unintelligible reverse of
my ever~faithful muses's intimacy,
the un~cooing of our pleasure,
for
when rhymes dewdrop^^
from the insertions from heaven's eyes,
and then when,
you and I
together embrace,
the harmony of spirit
that a poem
makes writer and reader
sharers,
the calm shaking
of hearts well tickled,
laughingly ratified,
and even momentarily
satiated and satisfied
is our
now combinatorial
esprit de corps^^^
~'~'''~~
just a wee ditzy ditty that
fell onto a screen
when reviewing
my silly but
true and utter faithful muses's^^^^
utterances,
in being be tweening
the quickest ten minutes
of my ridiculous life
<nml>
10/6 no tricks 2025
3:10am ~3:20am
~~~
and
now let the real,
hard-work of handiwork ahead,
of writing
something akin
to a psalm, a prayer,
a train of quatrains,
a hiya to haikus,
a ballad to bellow,
you know,
that serious stuffing
that leaves us both
😢aweeping😪
with the unadulterated
purest of joy