My Muses Has Uses
I call her Suzann; after a girl that tickled my fancy once upon a time.
Now she’s my muse; I use her to help me when I’m without Idea’s.
Suzann—you know I love you baby; help me find a rhyme;
Suzann-- be good like I remember; light it up inside my mind.
I often sit here in times like these; looking to find that avenue;
You know that place that provides answers to a need.
Walking through the park; on Golden Avenue;
As all the little honeys sing; what can I do for you?
As I shuffle through the cards that represent my life; I wonder
Often I’ll stop to think about my muse and things I’ve seen and done
And I ask her if she’ll tell me; if it’s her I miss the most;
And please don’t use that, part of me; that’s on a spit to roast.
Looking back and reading; I ask myself where this is going;
Is it nowhere again; with a line or two that may be good.
Like the joke in elementary school, my foots nailed to the floor;
And I’m running all in circles; but yet I always want some more.
I’m never sure if there’s a point; but then again there might be;
But it’s usually very subtle; and often as not idealistically confrontational.
Listen little muse of mine; help me make some sense;
Come on over to my side; I’ll help you with that fence.
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