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My Muse is a Man

by Anne Di Baguette


again with the fight as I set out to write


a fresh poem about soft light or joy


but I’m stopped at the brink of each


inspired think by my muse, a terminal boy


 





my muse is a man, but a rogue and a cad


and he’s crass and insanely obscene


an incurable loner, a chronic s-t-o-n-e-r


manipulative, taunting and mean


 





a confessed chocoholic, hell, he’s diabolic


he will give you the ride of your life


he doesn’t mince words, but he’ll dice up


your heart then proceed to lick the knife


 





demanding, exacting, over-reacting,


explosive, contriving and cool


he dwells in surreal unrealistic ideal,


toys with me as if I’m a fool


 





he has no direction, withholds his affection


he’s confidant, cocky, confused


deliriously serious, sarcastic, impervious


occasionally mildly amused


 





gentle, accepting, embracing, relenting


I could use a muse like this instead


I would write about sunshine,


cool breezes and springtime


if I could just get him out of my head

01/13/2003

Posted on 12/01/2017
Copyright © 2022 Anne Di Baguette

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