My Muse-less Musings


The pen rattles and clicks in the room

Where the July heat frizzles the plants

And the heads bent over crowded pages

Implant ideas, thoughts and in little time

The pompous pages and pen are poured

Upon with their musings. There am I.

I steam and settle back into my desk chair with

My muse-less thoughts, brittle against the billboard

Of daily routines. The future of my

Work in progress is stemmed. The struggle hurts

But I neither heed nor want an Adonis God

To plunder and pillage my contemplations. From

Creatures kind and curious come my ground-breaking

Work and I know. I know a muse comes

And goes. And comes and goes. I need not any

muse but a great bounty of mortal muses.