Dear blog,
I’ve neglected you. Here’s a poem to make up for it:
The muse
Is not answering my emails.
She’s on vacation, in some awful place
That only a muse could find inspiring.
A place where poets pine
For some word other than e’er,
Some brothy, bracing swill
To lift them up and fling them
Into pointless loveliness.
She won’t answer my calls
For clear icy truth
She won’t take my requests
For roiling reveries.
I am not amused.
exiles child 