none

worse. and worse.

and the lights have not turned off yet.

only the sun counts time

the rest of us

just go

like a train

or the rain

or even a bird

or a child

blind man singing in the blue night

running from the things he has not seen.

and this sword fight

is with the muse

for this poem

this duel

will decide my fate

like a thousand

wet suns

trying to dry

Reviews

[Dalebear]

Good write

[...]

. it's not tough, only challenging ... stand your ground and you'll be grounded ... fly a little and you'll get addicted to flying ... p.s. ... i never get along with words ... i'm either chasing them or they're chasing me ... :) ...

[.]

your words are simple but you manage to convey a really deep vivid image..I love that about your work..great write

[Emily B]

I read this again and I swear I heard Ella singing "blues in the night", now where the hell did that come from . . .?

[Emily B]

the importance of the muse and getting the poem just right . . . the idea that there might be a better word or a more functional flow annoys us sometimes until we arrange and re-arrange. I guess if the pressure on the muse and the poet is rough, it must be hell to be a word--to always have to prove your worth and justify your place in the work. . .