Trixie Has Her Way With Me Daily

My muse Trixie is always raring to go; she writes while I sleep. I know because upon awakening I hear a poem often. The last couple of lines anyway, which is truthfully rather exasperating. She has favorite words of which I am sick. Dancing, prancing, twirling, whirling, are some of the verbs she always wants. Do we have to use it on corpses and gargoyles? I ask. She insists on her own way, which explains my fear of her. Does she ever inspire me? I am wracking my brain, thinking hard now. My dendrite highway has completely shut down. I am trying hard to think of the last time she inspired me. Possibly today when we wrote twenty poems I do not remember writing. She takes over when she wants. I am putty in her hand. Not sure she inspires, but she surely runs the show. She is in charge. I am her pawn - a peon, a Plebian. She is blowing the kazoo and dancing now. Extremely happy that I have recognized her power over me. Maybe when I awaken from my slumber in the morning Trixie will let me remember more than just the last line of a poem.