I don’t believe in this lyric Muse
everyone talks about
Swear we’ve never
had a conversation
I’ve listened for her voice
in the corn by the river
Always ended those nights
running home frightened and alone
If believed in the Muse
I might have heard her
chattering in my ear
at some point
second hand news
of a second hand band
Instead I had to
run from the silence
and here I am again
on that river bank
panting and hungry
Full of nothing
but my voice wondering out loud
why this endlessly feels
like I am built to be
alone — a poor boy bereft
surrounded by tall dead corn
and thoughts of plunging in
to this river that could take me
to hear what I do not believe exists
here or anywhere
but I’m willing to be convinced
I’m ready to listen
to any mythology now
having had the practice of decades
straining in silence
to hear my country
speak to me
as if I were worthy
of nodding along to its voice
that instead sounds like nothing
as much as a snapping flag on the wind
that rattles through this dry dead corn
whenever I stop running away
Dark Matter 
May 14th, 2022 at 2:31 pm
Hmm. Well, for me there are times when thoughts flow and other times when it’s like slogging through mud to get anything on paper. Doesn’t matter what we call it. But the differences in the power of what we write are often obvious. I do admire your ability to focus and produce though.
May 12th, 2022 at 11:38 pm
The trouble with a muse is that it’s fickle, flitting away when you cry for it and showing up when it doesn’t seem to matter to you after all.
When I was in Normandy standing near Point du Hoc and the field of small white crosses that crown it now, Old Glory was snapping in the wind. I’ll always connect that sound with the sight of all the lost who died in that war and all the ones in wars before and wars after and wars in the future. That’s one of the few things humanity is consistent in…..killing each other.
May 13th, 2022 at 8:02 am
I don’t believe in the Muse as it’s usually described. I just believe in work.