National Poetry Month
Sketchbook cover from art school days
Muse in my Ear Eye to Eye
If I Were
Immersed In You
(I would lick the inside of your
Why do I sense in you, a
right wing medical extremist?
Muse, goddess, must I beg for insight, approach near death?
I mean, first it was the
water fertilizing a date palm;
water and fruit were
like heaven and earth coming together
to multiply all of our
resources in the garden.
Then, it became the wine
and the wheat -- blood of Dionysus,
and the mother of spring
Ė Demeter. Next it was lambís blood
over the door lentils,
and the unleavened bread of the Israelites.
And, low and behold, that became the blood of Christ and his
Sheesh, nowadays, bread
and wine symbolize a cool weekend
filled with yuppie
cheese products and symbols of a good time.
God spilled world, you
forever fill my uses from the vine of
trampled wisdom, poured
by slow hands of time and vintage Ė
no drink too powerful to
overpower my mind linked by press.
You test me with divine esteem, no more deadly than a dream
that lasts a lifetime,
seemingly short by contemporary themes
that populate the
screens and thoughts of all who seek a word.
The self redeeming
people caught in the rapture of inspiration
are allowed to see for
their own sakes -- especially in the wake
of your epidemiology to come, a word you are gargling as
In that whiskey tone of
voice, immersing and rife with delight.
You walk with me
demanding equanimity, our therapy cup
overflowing to the point of self-abuse and mental
However, even a computer knows one canít ignore oneself.
Muse of amusement or
goddess of withering natural forces
My art, my feather,
hopeless vision of divinity, take me now
So we can discover and
celebrate the worlds within us.
Photo by Eugene Brown