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.