Late Muse

I just want to lie

in a cold Canadian lake-

arms stretched

toes pointed to the sky.

Where when commuters pass they wonder,

what the fuck is that guy doing–

and somewhere in a considered safe distance

is a moose.

and I’m reflecting on my muse.

The tiniest of poet voices

that quietly walks into my bedroom

every other night after 3am for our tea.

The nights session ends with a cool hip song.

No Goodbyes

and I try to go back to sleep.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s