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Muses
August 1, 2012
I was born in a recession
And God with his hands full
Forgot to give me a muse.
My rosy, doll face found in a back-alley
Has no inspiring crack
To bleed tailored-perfect words.
My ink-dried pen stutters along
on sycophant sympathy
For empathy - What a luxury.
A chocolate bar full of dark temptation
Heaped with nuts, choked full of poverty
Threaded with the sinuous caramel of death …
It is a ration stamp that I cannot afford.
Nor desire.
© Joslyn R., Margate, FL
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