yester night- I re-invented myself
as a poet,
created by the dalliance of words
with my muse in her schizophrenic sojourn
between surreal, real and imagined life
as she narrated her love
in the tunnels of cloistered alcoves
somewhat labyrinthine
and long nights of disastrous affairs
demons playing in the delight of deadlock
in her mind, distorted
nevertheless,
she let in poems, new words
set in rhyme
into my arms-
in the anatomy of jasmine nights
in a serpentine slide
in a glass of wine
I knew the silent haughtiness
her mind’s disguise
as her eyes welled with tears
she said my poems are lies-
lies in an empty notebook
in a boudoir of shadow stars
in the darkness of the autumn
in the careless subconscious
I heard the wind turning the pages
the whispers of Muses,
and shifting sand dunes…
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