My Muse.
F Fay Slimm
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Sometimes I slip, off-key
Askew into reverie.
Become slow-geared, and slothfully
Muse into space.
Unheedful and timeless, my brain
Takes sabbatical,
Twilight zone, mistily
Slowing the pace.
Thinking power back-tracks, as
Demands lose their feed-backs
Wits hibernate, sink with the same racking
Sense of sub - norm.
Then from ether assembles words
Tumbling together, in rhythmic
Profusion. I arouse to a
Poem, just being born.
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