Trixie My Muse Keeps Me Alive
My poems propagate themselves
stirring ingredients like adjectives and adverbs
as I slumber, gloriously out of my mindset
I give my muse permission to pay attention
for I am not in body. Astral travel is my go-to-dream place
Taking no credit, I blink awake often listening to Trixie, my muse
whispering the last line of a poem
she has apparently been working on
several hours before I wake
I am being humble? No. I am giving credit
to a part of my brain that does not
travel with my soul at night
the part that regulates breathing insuring my fleshly continuance
This is why I readily give my muse Trixie
credit for a great deal of my poetry.
Sometimes I read it and I think “Who wrote that?”
Then one phrase or one word will click
and I know that I know nothing about my creativity
or my dream state
But I do know that it is much easier to give Trixie credit
for I am not one who knows what she is about
flying by the seat of my soul most of the time.
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