Muse-um

Muse-um


wait for the gout ridden albatross,

wait for the flinching wrecking ball,

wait for Venus in the southern cross,

wait for meaning

of

wait for it.


Wait,


hush now just a minute,

before and after.

ignore the laughter of ignominy.

Declare yourself sensei
 
of your silent hand.


While I wait

For the pin to drop

On windless sands.


Did you hear it?

consumed with the boot heel thumping
inside your psychotropic borders of bleariness
and happy.go.lucky.monotony taunting you
from the other side of the fence;
I fear you didn’t.

I know,

I know.

It’s rude, like Chappaquiddick or an acidic ice cream cone in the snow.

Your flavor to choose but there’s no backing out now,

on this texture of bramble and bone.

I own moments,

you own time.

Without a frame

to hold the lines,

abstract art

tortures the eyes.