Casual Cerebrations

I find it odd that my muse,

once balefully perched to whisper
savoury somethings in my ear,
slept the sleep of the breathless,
trekked long and languid,
then returned–giddy, vivacious–
to inspire inane lamentations,
tiring threnodies, and free-verse odes
dripping with sarcasm and scandalous
subtext, and this at a time
when I seek out Psalms
and crave palliatives,
a time when penning poetry
seems counterintuitive, pretentious,
and a tad bit silly,
a time when up seems down
and adulation seems lost in translation;
although improbable, it is plausible
I have simply lost my mind–
we all float down here in the rabbit hole,
but the little goat man
is not fond of sharing his lute;
at any rate I am irate
at her intangible shifting loyalties
and the scent of her perfume,
but I shall take it out on
panettones, preparations,
and the occasional self-induced peak.

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