A Momentary Muse
December 5, 2011 § 2 Comments
She: You’ve been struggling, haven’t you? So uncharacteristically silent, you’ve become.
She: The words have been there, though. Beyond your reach, maybe? Too many to speak, perhaps?
She: The ideas have all been vacated, by noise? Dialogues, all turned into crowds?
She: So serious, you’ve become. We hardly recognize you, you know. No wonder all your other Muses have left you.
He: Have they?
She: These movements of yours, they’re meant mostly for bowels. And indignation, it’s for a righteousness you long ago lost. You’re not young anymore.
He: I’m not old either.
She: But can you keep up with those who can hardly keep up with themselves? Listen, they’re already out of breath.
He: Are they? I’m not . . .
She: Oh, and the tides are rising anyway.
He: But you . . .
She: The sky is falling anyhow. We’re out of time.