Owed to a Muse

What was that attempt at catching your breath
and slowing down for the next available exit rant?
Judging by the needle on the gauge, there's enough
to drive through these days of sustenance in supplement text,

Yet the scattered brow of suggestive definition waffles in the wind.

What was that attempt of ours that ended in up in severed arms reaching for the levers of better backbones in the same wardrobes we’d grown comfortable in ?

and then that blue reward?
Light of feet, through unsure footing; suited
for the curve of the shifting scheme,
clings the edge of an image
in a tattered scene I’ve seen before
amassed at the dam and washed away
with the weight of the always waiting rain

Muddle through the bubbles with a way to blame it on years of tolerance.
Follow logic like a “dumb dog!” animal that damns it all, to bite the hand.

Don’t feel bad.

I’m an animal too,
and I’ll never blame you,

because we have no comprehension
of fact or fiction or even of what the rent might be
when it’s so long overdue.