January 5, 2006

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  Rewritten - I'm doing that now, going through work done since August, a few things from before, rewriting, editing, with an eye towards performance down the line. 

  
  

  Although I wrote this before I met bird, it's bird who's been the steadfast muse, most excellent, a most excellent bird in his manner of be-musing me.  Thanks, bird.

  
  

   

  
  

  My friend said, "You want a muse?  That's really as radical as wanting a wife...."

  
  

  "Will you be my muse?
  I've always been the muse,
  The juice,
  The edge of the fire,
  The match
  That combusts
  The flame
  For others.
  I want a muse...
   
  Thrusting my hands
  In my hair,
  Pulling it back,
  Hard,
  I walk away,
  Watching the street
  From the window,
  My foot tapping
  In 4/4 time. 

  
  

  Turning back,
  I fix him
  With my green-edged eyes.
  "You are my muse,
  You know,
  Even if you don't
  Give me permission.
  You are my muse,
  The energy
  That burns
  With mine
  In the refiner's fire,
  The honey
  Pouring over me
  Coating
  The barbed wire
  Threading my veins.
  
  You feed me,
  Lead me
  To places
  I didn't know
  I needed to see,
  You are tall grass. 
  
  His voice soft,
  He said,
  "I'll be your muse.
  Turn your face up
  Towards mine
  And I'll fasten
  This star
  In your hair
  For light
  And then
  Bring you coffee
  And kiss you.
  Will that
  Get you through
  What you want to write
  This afternoon?"

  
  

   

  
  

  pearlbamboo

  
  

  copyright  e. p. hodges

  • 6:15 pm
  • 5 Comments