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muse
by Angela Thomasin so many ways, he is a muse of mine, an artist
struggling to make it, but i only see the boy
cooking noodles on the stovetop, drinking tea
from a bell jar, wrapping himself around my body
and under covers to keep from shivering. a joint
dangling from his lips, ashes forgotten while he makes
flyers, posters, posts, blogs, pictures, art, anything
to keep his hands moving, his feet pounding, his mind
from settling down. he doesn't sleep. he walks between
dawns like shadows slip down a hallway in the morning
sun's glare. he's barely there. this makes me want
to know him. to understand the helium that floats
his balloon. it also makes him unreachable, a fragment
of an idea, a possibility. in this is the inspiration. 03/31/2012 Posted on 04/01/2012
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
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