From Summer/Autumn 2009 IV

 
 
 
…Said the caffeine dependent obsessive compulsive
            to himself

But I don’t wanna be naked
 
And making my rounds in a room second floor,
 
Bare window blocked only by
 
A broadly branching tree, screaming
 
Children on the ground.
 
But this is a happily leaping demon
 
I allow,            so I can list my
 
Singing angel muse,
 
Though she weep a lazy day.
 
…Push, shove.            Give, take.

Your picture goes far beyond a mirror, but my piece is
 
            Merely an echo.
 
Just a cavey voice.                        Pfffffffff.
 
Where’s my knife?            Where’s my wallet?  Will a lake
 
                  Lap at a shore?      Sure.            Shar—share—
 
--What?
 
Soul muse?  Solid muse?  Heart muse?  Hurt muse?  Broke muse?  Clock muse?
 
            --FUCK muse?
 
Let’s take a day,
 
                        Mock a few.