interrupted her nightly solitaire game. in the king of hearts she saw his face as he dusted off the suitcase and packed his jeans, his socks, her tomorrows. |
Saturday, July 20, 2013
A-muse-d
| 'It's amusing,' chortled my Muse, 'to watch you squirm, confused-- longing for the perfect rhyme, counted meter in perfect time. You'll find no words, no rhymes, no meters unless you get off your lazy keister and scribble out one thought or two-- anything from your soul will do. Should my eyes then turn your way, the perfect poem is yours today.' |
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