Quack Quack

No Eyelids


The muse is awake

seducing potential poetry.

But my brain, lacking, quakes

and quacks instead,

attacking bits of bread with

beaks which can't even speak

beautifully enough,

nor carry a rose between teeth

as offering to the throne

of the good goddess.

Another poem to atone for time

in the miracle of a lie.


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J9thxciv's picture

I like the good natured

I like the good natured modesty of this poem, but I doubt your brain lacks anything.  It certainly has an abundance to verbal talent, as your poems obviously, but not ostentatiously, demonstrate.  A rose in the teeth is not nearly as good an offering to the Muse as this poem is; or any of yours. 


[* /+/ ^]

allets's picture

Poetry as Atonement

now, that's a thought! :D