Muse

the muse descends in tattered wings
to brush my tired head with silvery fantasies
of places I will never go to meet creatures I will never see
spinning, colliding and swirling
he entices me to send all of my thoughts
to the realm of the imagined
in a rocking boat on a purple sea
with a talking unicorn and a bat
flying into outer space
to talk to god who wears
a spacesuit and speaks jive
‘leave me!’ I cry and
so he goes
and I am left within beige walls
in the centre of a green lawn
on a grey street in Toronto 
working the way that people work
eating each other with words
because they lack the courage
to be real
using their jobs as an excuse to
be inhuman, as a reason to feast
on the spiritual fat of their brothers
the only gifts are trees
and strangers
for neither has an interest in me
and both give me joy
‘muse!’ I cry to him
take me away!
and like a stubborn wench he sneers aloft
‘muse!’
echoes into the greyness
and as night slips into the crevices of my mind
crooning sleep
he touches me softly on my cheek
and wakes my mind to dancing with
sunflowers in fields of pink paisley
I skip through streets of water skimming
along on fairies’ wings
we sing arias in g minor bawdily
until he dumps me back to myself
staring at candle stumps sputtering out
and refuses to be called again

(November 14, 2003)

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