When your muse leaves you
for someone more exotic; when
those dark eyes close, those blue
eyes turn away; whenyour passion erodes to unnoticed
dust on cluttered shelves, skin
thick and untouched, unbrushed
hair tangled beneathstiff shoulders -- resort to bugles,
to firecrackers and sharpened
pins. Wake up your own ears.
Slap your own face.Prick your own flesh. Watch your
own eyes in the mirror. Those
dark eyes, those blue eyes. Those
bold stranger's eyes.
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Now I know what to do when my muse is distracted or ...
Posted by: endmente | 11 April 2006 at 08:48 PM
Always happy to help ...
Posted by: SB | 11 April 2006 at 09:26 PM
Damn old muse anyway, always wandering off just when I'm looking for inspiraton. I'm too old for cheap wine. And, too cheap for good scotch.
I like what your coming up with! Seems your muse is doing just fine!
Posted by: Ken | 12 April 2006 at 01:34 AM
Powerful - love the feeling it evokes.
Posted by: Niki | 12 April 2006 at 11:02 AM