My Muses Has Uses

I call her Suzann; after a girl that tickled my fancy once upon a time. Now she’s my muse; I use her to help me when I’m without Idea’s. Suzann—you know I love you baby; help me find a rhyme; Suzann-- be good like I remember; light it up inside my mind. I often sit here in times like these; looking to find that avenue; You know that place that provides answers to a need. Walking through the park; on Golden Avenue; As all the little honeys sing; what can I do for you? As I shuffle through the cards that represent my life; I wonder Often I’ll stop to think about my muse and things I’ve seen and done And I ask her if she’ll tell me; if it’s her I miss the most; And please don’t use that, part of me; that’s on a spit to roast. Looking back and reading; I ask myself where this is going; Is it nowhere again; with a line or two that may be good. Like the joke in elementary school, my foots nailed to the floor; And I’m running all in circles; but yet I always want some more. I’m never sure if there’s a point; but then again there might be; But it’s usually very subtle; and often as not idealistically confrontational. Listen little muse of mine; help me make some sense; Come on over to my side; I’ll help you with that fence.