Monday, November 12, 2018

What if there were no muses

Would I die?
If you did not exist would I become less transparent?
Would I blow away like dandelion pollen?

A stairway to Heaven was presented to me, but I chose to go in a different direction
Oftentimes conventional wisdom bites you in the ass like a cheese Danish you cannot resist ravaging
She offered me fruits and vegetables, but I told her I was a hunter and ate only meat and lots of pizza

Spied you across the room like a crime noir femme fatale
Jim Thompson could have written you from the waist up
The moonlight poured upon you like Boone's Farm

Would you live?
If I did not punch the keys and immortalize your smile
Of course you would because I’m doing nothing more than what’s necessary

The River Styx calls out to me from across an open expanse of frozen hearts and braindead scripture
I’d call a spade a spade, but in these politicized times I’d be afraid to offend someone as my scruples get derided for their inability to correctly read a room
What if there were no muses and all the shit I write just kept piling up like uninspired corpses?

Charles Cicirella

No comments: