The Muse is trapped and tapping
on the glass walls of my brain:
incessant, rhythmic rapping
redefining migraine pain.
Disregarding common sense,
I take a walk alone
into the night dark street
and down the center line from home.
The captive Mistress Artist
swells her cadence in my ear
until the lines I can't release
spill over as a tear.
I wrote this in college when I was apparently very frustrated by writer's block and also had had way too much caffeine.
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