All the Muses have Left

All the Muses have Left

All the muses have left
me .
They’ve been
gone for a while ,
perhaps even longer .
Don’t know where they go,
when they suddenly travel .
It’s just their style .
to suddenly leave .
Are they
in The south of France
or gone en vacances
to Kuwai, or Hawaii ?
Maybe they’re at
work in some
street city ghetto
or have travelled to China
or even Dubai  ?
All I know is
they’ve left me
as cold  as a fish
without even as much
as a parting goodbye .
They do  that  sometimes.
They know
that I don’t take offense ,
that I wouldn’t mark
a single line
till they’re back
in my corner
drilling
circling
In defense
of the word or
of any line
that they drop
on my heart
or slip into soul  .
This is just a note
: Wishing you were
here.

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Poetics Moment . I’m Hungry

Poetics Moment . I’m Hungry

I feel my backbone now .
It moves in strange ways,
bare with less protection,
while standing in the poet’s corner
completely surrounded by books of verse .
Ginsberg Eliot Rumi to boot .
Poetry is becoming popular again.
This time describing polymers
and hard returns ,
Love, zygal, and artifacts
to barbarous renditions
of Cohen’s music
sung by female lounge
lizards .
And I’m told A. Miller’s
Marilyn Monroe
had six toes ,
like Alexander’s horse.
They were both poetic
and well loved.