The Muse

Published April 14, 2013 by rlmcdermott

I speak of nothing
and it speaks of me;

this speaking
is my poetry.

I stand alone
on this stark cliff–

a toothy girl
with hungry dreams.

They come
and leave

these fishy men
on boats of pine.

I call their names
with my sharp tongue.

My mouth is
full of words

I cannot say
and so I sing

of better days
that will not come.

A prisoner
of the gods,

I am at sea,

a monster
on a rocky shore,

always calling
and never heard,

always seeking
and never found.The Muse

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