Thursday, February 26, 2015

To My Muse


I'm a blue, disjointed woman
Picasso would be proud
Stalin's supporters
whisper at the stairs
conspiring to always
throw me over

I must be some kind
of threat, a great
Court's fool to have
such attention, always

But a Queen would
not have such a thing
raise her hand & tell you
to fetch your tail

So be off, ambulance riders
Hemingway had his time
Bad mouthing like Miller
and women like Anais
take pleasure in it

Dying strong is an art
Virginia Woolf can attest to
leaving power in words
yet she never came back
from the water

Rocks in my pocket
like loose change
just jokes of me

What I write
what I become is a
result of all of it

They become these words
lines, sketches,
paintings, of you to see
if you see yourself
somewhere in there

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