muse

By Tate Singleton

i’m sorry to tell you

the ink stopped flowing

when i lost my muse

-

because when she yelled

i extracted her words

and let them fill

those lonely few pages

-

when i finally

could feel my heartbeat

i couldn’t use the excess blood

as a substitute for ink

-

so i am the retired poet

watching winter go by

like a salesman in your doorway

let me in, kill my time