The Harpies and the Muse

The harpies circle overhead
Just waiting until I finally drop
Then they'll come in to feed
Perhaps a quick break from their endless nagging
Each represents one of my ongoing "catastrophes"
Respectively bearing the names of:
"Questionable Health"
"Bipolar Syndrome"
And "Lack of Inspiration"
The latter particularly problematic
Landing viciously on my left shoulder
But the door bursts open
And there stands a woman of valor
My Muse, radiant and proud
Brandishing a shotgun of considerable gauge
She ratchets and blasts three times
Blowing those winged bitches to dripping shreds
Then casts the weapon aside
Embraces me until the stars rise
Until my fears take a fucking hike
And once again serenity's restored
At which time she whispers:
"And now, my sweet, let's write a few lines..."

(Art from Amy Foster)