Muse-ish-n

I strum my grief,

& pluck one-liners

~riffing beats~

as I define

/ a life in leaf /

my story time. . .

in bits-so-sweet

until decline–

there never was a prelude finer–

worth a sonnet

and a shiner.

Through a reed &

with some weed,

I blow my smoke

in piping. . .

oboes, flutes,

kazoos that toot

to mellow

bellowed griping. . .

My odes

unload!

My poems

come home!

My villanelles unveiling–

in measured chord

dynamic score

of trial’ing & tre’vailing. . .

For mortal wounds

the gizmo used

is full-on Philharmonic,

no poem,

but tome!

–a fiction long–

subverting

hurt to tonic. . .

As lullaby,

may I imply,

to me all words

are music,

witty, ditty

> even sh*tty <

can be pretty

when I choose it.Like Loading…