No one wonders where I am. They believe
they know. Visions of me in my townhouse…
meditative…mind straining to conceive
an image…a phrase…a line…getting soused
through frustration…for inspiration…eyes
turning bloody from guzzling and glaring…
but that’s not the path…instead I watch…spy
on all the earth before me…hear blaring
life and sacred silence…breathe in cool air…
taste and retaste the tuna sub…mostly
await the Muse…spirit who chooses her
own sweet time to whisper or sing…ghostly
in the kindest way…subtle in her glance…
smiling when she’s ready…and then we dance…
Roger Armbrust
September 3, 2020
