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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,
Casablanca,
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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