The Musalist, The Muse, and a God for Obsolescence

 

A minimalism of muse leads me where i mighta gone to any'way.
It's minimal musealism of utter practically between the midnight,
And the glow of another sunrise, & hey, I get a piece of that pie
before it hits
The Spot ........

who's The Muse, anyway? Which way did her Museability fly?
I need her delicate, guiding hand to show the Western Land.
It's a dream for an Afterlife where souls (us all) wait for a
'personal interview' having to do with little of the contemporary
scene.       It's an old place.   So old, no one knows.  So old as to be
irrelevant.    So old as to be unspoken of for eons.

Its where god does His Shopping. Where V'Mary goes  to hit
the tanning booth. And the rest must go to the storefront chapel,
where zithers of The Third Man Theme play gently in a humid
sort of darkness, (and, if for no other reason, enhancing the ambiance).

It All comes back (to) here. No need for sense-making. Muse will be
there, "believe it or  not". Just please don't be too forceful in finding her.
She will come when she will. Before your need becomes too pronounced,
she will make her presence well-known. We'll have nothing else to lose,

                              Little else to do, other than wait.

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2020dankozakRitesOfWord,BadPixtrs,Inconclusivities