Shattered in the white sands
Like beer bottles after summer,
My muse has spit on my name
Left me crushed, ruined, used.
My words, a newspaper soaked
Ink drained away and smeared.
Ideas, a sandcastle
Swept asunder underfoot.
Songs, an ancient train
Assaulting ears with hideous whine.
Uselessly I clamor on
Seeking substitute to sublime.
Without you, love, it's over.
(Original date 6/9/2010)
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