disturbing my conversation with my muse ?

disturbing my conversation with my muse ?

he was slamming metaphors of happiness

into his consciousness

hoping to write something beautiful

to no avail

what truly ailed him

was not found in words

for the feeling has yet to manifest

into cognizable words

one could say he was lonely

or confused

but the court crier

thought differently

he surmised

he considered

he pondered

he reflected

he inspected

and no solution was detected

just the absence of all things

of meaning

he visited upon the Book of Faces

there were many

5,000 i think

none whom he knew,

truly

how could he

he did not even know himself

but just the same

it would have to make do

for now

perhaps he would invite a “friend”

to join him

in the meadow of flowers

behind the barn

and they could share a verse or two

he wondered

what would the outcome be

would it be painful

or just another exercise

of less than meaningful words

collected to acknowledge

the accomplishment

of collaboration

betwixt himself

his pen

and the conjurings

he managed

perhaps he would write about the mountain

he could never scale

it is not that he failed

but he never did try

though in his head

all his life he vied

for such feats

many a time he saw himself

at the summit

dammit, who’s on the phone now

disturbing my conversation

with my muse ?