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"Lurking Muses Dance On the Outskirts of Eyesight" by hate_doll

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Simple lyrics seep from fuzzed over speakers
Crackled and used
But not in any way tainted
Like wax paper creases
This is the way my words form tonight
I can see my muse’s bright eyes leering
Jeering,
From behind an indiscernible shadow
She laughs because I can’t reach her
Though with every fiber of my poet
I try to grasp her through
Bottles and words
She will not curl and purr in my lap
She will only jump on my back
And scratch
When I have no paper
No pen
When my mind is already
Scratched up
From cold weather, bad breath,
And too many mistakes
If only I could
Just once see her
Blindly
Her gypsy Greek
Magic could make me
Marvelous
But she will never allow it
I am more or less left
To translate cryptic
Symbols from my
Cemetery of thoughts
“It is not my fault
Your are so dependent
On me”
She speaks so brightly
At times likes these
I could strangle her
But I know I would only
Be choking on my own words

...whytt*06



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On Monday October 16th, 2006, Carmina Gitana (118) writes:
I always love poems about writing or writer's block or the muse. For some reason, the subject never gets old, and you've handled it especially deftly here - it has a great erudite yet lucid feel to it (pretty rare, I think!). I like your line breaks too.


On Wednesday October 4th, 2006, abaddon (39) writes:
beautiful! i love it!!!!!!


On Wednesday October 4th, 2006, SamoneDrone (400) writes:
this piece is woven so beautifully, and you ended it perfectly. your words almost dance in my head as i read them. ....-samone


On Tuesday October 3rd, 2006, Alanarchy (1698) writes:
I am more or less left/to translate cryptic/symbols from my/cemetary of thoughts" That's a great concept, I loved those lines. And the last four lines closed it out nicely. hehehe, I know these feelings well. Write on! :D



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