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Waiting for the Muse to Send Her Regards
by David Matthews

I crank up the volume for Blonde on Blonde
And wait for the muse to send her regards,
Email a dream where vowels are blue
And consonants dance like Nijinsky himself
While a young Robbie Robertson
Plays guitar in the background.

My requirements by way of inspiration are modest.
It does not have to be the moon's reflection
On the surface of a cup of espresso
Sipped in a Left Bank café
Or a femme fatale
Who will not settle
For a lesser man than a poet,

Just a poetzombie swilling coffee
And cranking out more poems in a morning
Than come my way in a good month,
A cocktail napkin with a hastily penned note
In Emily Dickinson's handwriting,
Or the flicker of film in black and white
Across the screen at Cinema 21
Or the Hollywood,
La Dolce Vita
Anything by Ingmar Bergman.

I await delivery of my palette of dream
Where the divinely mad may dip a brush
And wonder if I am among those elect
Or merely of the merely mad...
Then a concerto of cathedral tunes
For mouth organ and kazoo
Drifts my way
With a certain slant of light
Toward the close of a winter day...

And there in the distance
Where shadows hold their breath,
A postman who looks a lot like Bukowski
Waves a special delivery package
Of metaphors
Just for me!


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