The Muse At Four A. M.
The pre-dawn ennui of sleeplessness
Chafes raw the nerves of poetry,
As tensing cadences of song caress
The rain with mist-vague melody.
The mind becomes a frescoed wall,
Mad metaphors are muraled there:
Pastels and paling pigments sprawl
Tableauxed& translucent& brushed with air.
07-19-88
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