Knuckle Down
(Summon the Muse)
Calliope drops sensuous
sounds from her fingertips.
My outstretched arms catch
and hold them to my bosom,
wherein they suffer death.
Clio presents her backside.
My impassioned pleas fall
on deaf ears. All the old
stories stay locked inside
aged trunks in the attic.
Where are the words,
recounting broken vows?
Erato is sleeping. Wake up!
Let us pen phrases, turn
hearts of stone into
songs of undying love.
I appeal to Euterpe.
Her answer dribbles down
as scattered snowflakes.
I sing the songs only
to children, or myself.
No boldness here.
Thalia fails completely.
No wit or wisdom blooms,
no grace flourishes forth.
The blank page dances
crazily and begs.
The pen remains silent.
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