Here I sit
fingers smacking at the keys
like an inmate’s mug
clack at the bars of a prison cell.
Waiting for
Ms. Muse to visit me again
her schedule is tight
she makes me wait and breaks our dates.
Hours have
ticked by on that old wall clock
filth flows from my fingertips.
I am aimless
chasing words
like leaves in the wind.
She is a cunning temptress
in all her brilliance, fleeing
just as she came.
Mocha Stories 