Speaking of the Muse
My muse comes up behind me and says Honey
(she calls me honey)
you don’t have a lot of time here –
lose the pale Flemish bride
with the sidelong glances.
She says Look! Here I am!
Dappled with oceans
furred with green and gold –
Honey, give me your full attention here!
O she turns
light runs from her mountains
like sun off bleached bone
her mangrove hair winds in a sea of stars
on the round veldt of her belly elephants graze
and at her throat lie leopards,
waiting for me to come and drink.
She says You bring all those monkey voices down here
and leave them to the leopards.
She says You work your feet down deep in my mud
suck up that ripe swamp smell of life and death
and when the leopards come for you –
speak that, Honey. Speak that.