Joseph P. DiMino Poet Free verse

Waiting For the Muse

I scavenge for pressure points—
Press between ruled lines
My expressive probe,
Looking for literal nerves,
Meridians
Defining the direction
Of my poetry,
The resistance and flow of its current

Was I born to sleep,
Or be electrically charged,
Wired—
Magnetic pulses of activity—?

It is late night,
When I usually write—
Without a shrill, shadows silently come and go,
Nod—A suspended presence—
Not a word passing between us—
The air,
Tingly
Like sky and earth
Just before lightning bridges the gap—

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Daniel Turner September 13, 2016 at 7:14 AM Sounds a whole lot like my muse. Very temperamental. Enjoyed the read, Joe. Joseph P. DiMino September 13, 2016 at 8:06 AM Hi Dan; they can be contrary:) Thank you my friend, for letting me know you like this work. Blessings!