The Muted Muse

Sing the song, O muted Muse,

The one that begins, “tut tut tut,”

And ends, “toot toot toot,”

The one the robin sings on

Humid afternoons, glazed over by

Flakes of younger days dancing

Outside, the wind from the inside

Holding still, with a gasp and a clap

That brighter, more elegant days entrap.

Thus today (tonight) the trachea tears;

Cries coursing within you, emptied seemingly

Into some solid slumber.

Do you feel it? The aches and pains—

You and I sense it; how wonderful

How tragic—

Dance without a care in the world

Because you think catharsis is in

The air and the heated flesh around you.

Dance around yourself, to the muted Muse’s song.

You, the lamb. I, the blade.

Let us make this music together.

And when the song ends before it starts,

When the silence comes before the fall,

When spring comes and goes without a bloom,

Remember the song you heard

On that restricted night alone,

The one the muted Muse doth moan.