more poetry?.?.?.

cleaning up salt

she’s probably almost finished
cleaning up the salt
from when the little plastic oval
fell out and let the salt
spill across the table like summer snow

she’s probably cursing and looking at the
trail of spilt beer
when the shaken bottle opened
and the fizz and beer drizzled
all over the floor
that still needs cleaning

she’s probably thinking
“now where did we go wrong”
and making plaintative stares
out the window
waiting for an answer
but the beer doesn’t clean itself

she’s probably worried
because she didn’t ask why
i’d rather starve,
than beg or borrow
and she never asked
if i still wrote

memories of a departed muse

i miss the muse that used
to turn on christmas lights
in her window
to let me know we were safe

and when we’d run from
some dull neighborhoods
in a quiet part of town
we’d laugh and play
that game about pretending to
be something you’re not

i miss the muse because she never knew
that though i wanted
to slip inside her,
this was better. this was real
somehow, even if she fled
a long time ago,
i still get word
every now and again.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: