Muse Amber Alert, or what to write when you don’t feel like writing
Let’s get it straight,
My confusion’s infinite like figure-8s,
Or the ongoing debate:
Less filling, tastes great.
I’m not a stalker
Even though every day, I hawk her.
She eludes me
Just like a baby in a walker.
My muse amusingly
Confuses me.
She is serious about remaining mysterious.
She knows I’ll always be curious,
Which keeps me furious
That I can’t seem to stop falling.
This interest of mine is sprawling
Again, not a stalker, just a follower,
Been told it’s my calling.
Watching her right now
And she just left Walgreens.
Passing a shifty mall cop,
She hops to the coffee shop
Not a fan of corporate giants,
She prefers smaller Mom and Pops.
She ordered a cafe mocha
To complement her essence.
Is there another chocolate lover in my presence?
She sits down, crosses her legs, takes a sip now
She lifts her brow, no scowl
Only a smile, no frown in its place
So pretty that she can’t make an ugly face.
I need to get closer and I’m a closer
No such thing as writer’s block.
It’s just a muse being antisocial.
Like a fire on a pire,
There’s a burning desire to be inspired,
so that the words don’t become liars.
So as the world stands still
and you hear the shrill of the till,
she smells better than steak on a grill.
Ha! If looks could kill…
The showstopper rises from the table and cars crash,
Distracting all the drivers,
she tosses her cup in the trash.
Uh, I mean the recycling bin,
she’s not “environmentally rude.”
Then she spits, tucks, and adjusts
her crotch as if she were a damn dude–
What the ????
Uh oh.
Being that my eyes are now prime candidates for incineration,
I’m gonna need to find me another source of inspiration.
Another day in LA…
Think Ink|Thinq Inq 