connecting*the*dots

gone is my muse
from which i took leave
of artistry and conviction
to discover what i believe…
how much bullshit is that?
eating nothing, yet getting fat…
the head getting cold while wearing a hat…
the D train passing without the sight of a rat…
i guess i left it up to her
to flower in her youth
to take me far beyond
the absolute & vermouth.
and i wonder why the years look so dim
i had a muse and let the slim
chance of her breath to inspire and create.
god, i deserve all that i got…
all that’s left on my plate…
so here i am
with only myself to be inspired…
hey… what a thought
how profound
i think i’m feeling wired
back with society,
or at least with the lost part of me,
i’m approaching this so gregariously
it scares me to think
of how she might feel
because there’s still a part of my muse
left up inside of me…