I Lie Fallow…
my muse field
left unsewn
a Sabbath for my muse
or turning off the poem machine
as Bukowski would say
Hey, the muse like you (and me) must rest
maybe just for a night (I hope)
longer if I must
as my days my news my pain
minds-eye
camera-eye
dead-eye
mix together
conceptualize synthesize exercise
what I wish to say
fertilizing the field
‘Til then
here’s to the muse
of an empty
poet