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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


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

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