I need a muse

The ringmaster of imagination

Trailing art behind its wedding dress as applause waits at the altar

Who not only glows beneath moonlit skies and thundering nights

Blues and full stomachs, heavy laughs, quiet coughs

Faded open cries

A muse that can hide—behind truths and fables

Not just toilet paper bull and shit loaded within coughed up explanation

A muse foaming wordy inspiration and uncut truth

Tv talk and mocking birds track the spaces and ellipses

I’ve found real depth in drawing boards within the mind

Reading between the same old lines

Pictures of smiles disarrayed in puzzle pieces

Slick talk, sly and slurring, slipping past my good eye

A muse, a muse, who excuses affairs with guidelines and deep whispers money couldn’t buy

Who doesn’t entrap me in perfume trying to cover up dirt truths

With hip shaking and giggling phone calls…

Roaring noon.  Reminiscing cold streets and shouldered suburbs

Lists of rules and strict hushes, unheard of sighs..

One who will lie within my book shelves,

And pour in every word ‘til the emptiness is full

Rewind me, make me uncomfortable, and leave me when I am needy

A muse to pounce on misery and isolation in a big city

A museum to stand at the club entrance of creativity

Leaving life to lift the likes of the ones deprived of it all

I need a muse…

One to breathe in fate and the totality of passion

Jazz

One to glue together every piece of this exact poem I could never finish a long time ago…

I just need… A muse.

A muse.