Saturday, June 20, 2009

I A Muse

Rocking in a straight back chair,
I sit cross legged
and pen my time in biding wait...

Music blares a daring dirge
of yesteryear's angst,
I succumb in numbing,
trussed in darkened doily
under the chenille, my rabbit
waits in stare... we both wait.

In a glare of celebrity screen,
(an appellate taunt) he teases
his fashion born of a new found freedom
on literary pretense...
the meta-foreplayed is never literal...
a dancing thought that delights in
rapturous laughter.

I know the cleaving-
sex, and religion scoffed,
which reigns in harmony
of a dissonant reasoning.

We wait... the mute and beady,
the blurred and bleating
who lives in a silent splendor
of rocking and charity.

Those words that hook and play...
a veiled mystery to Salome's dance.

The marooned head will meet me
where words have no meaning,
and a soul patch is a badge of honor.

Mock on... the crockery
awaits the next melt of the buttering.
Slide the slope, it's just a musing.

I'll meet you on top of a creamsicle dream...


  1. and with that pen
    I describe life within me
    scribing all i see and feel

    your a wonderful writer

  2. Thank you... your words always ring true, there is beauty there.