The sullen time when artists and muses
find one another.
So then what of the darkest artistic arts
do find so attractive
That finds here day and night drawing out
your failed – dream
The ode you drew - sonnet you sketched
you think so pith
Became deformed from the minds goal to
the senses seam
Talk then of your art and forget your
crime – the world will forgive
The voice echo’s to hear the poet master
stands unchallenged
Each day and feeling you live to relive
and again to ‘us’ we too relive
There in wine fumed corner I find your
eye and ear still unchallenged
The daisy, daff,-the moment’s eye,
straining passion, or inevitable loss
The pollen irritates and breeds anew –
the sullen summers day mist
The muses’ gauze covered lives vague and
as scarred hearts emboss
The stream awaits the mositiqtuo to whose
silent sting – as fatal kisses
Poet. In his black and white. Is lost.
Here is lost – the sun slinks on by
the evening makes the ale and merlot a
home-the food and talk – modal
The silent cold – drawn up through the
flesh of the day – here so ostensibly
The night is dreamtime -the mind never
rests – still hearing a muses call
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