NAPOWRIMO - 17 April 2006 - Muse

My muse is like an ant in my brain.
Sometimes it just lazes in a bath
of slimy neurons and plumps up
false sensations of contentment.
At other times, especially when press
with deadlines, it crawls
haphazardly at mighty high speed
and lays its eggs everywhere.
I have to scoop them up from deep grooves
and pluck them from branches.
And then pile them up in a nice heap
to see if they would hatch up
an inspiration or two.
Sometimes, I would get trick eggs
which would stink my poems.
And I would grit my teeth
and leave them to burn
like my garden compost.
And I’d threaten my wandering muse,
I’d do the same to her
if the next batch are just as rotten.
If she’s amused, she'll promise to lay
some golden ones for me to play with.
I will wait.