Talking Myself Into One More Poem…

(1st thought)

The last one
wrung me
like an old
washer.

Left me
flapping
thin and
ragged
on the line.

Transparent.
Insubstantial.
Unraveling.

So I’m afraid,
dear blank page,
that the good
ones have all been
written.

You’ll get
no more
wordscapes
from me.

(2nd thought)

Unless…
That wind-swooped
strand
over there.

If I can tangle
my fingers
in
its
texture.

Follow
it
tumbling,
spitting word-scraps
tripping
sideways…

(3rd thought)

“Hello Erato!”
Tricksy lyric lender.
Elusive muse.

Oh, but this time
you’re caught.
This time
your lilting
word tumbles
are mine.

For, my dearest muse,
I’m already holding
my pen.

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