Westward Muse

My muse, my muse, my muse has gone astray. Gone westward and gone there to stay. When looking I don't find, When speaking I don't hear, Familiar musings so I could tilt my ear. And the thickness of the days each Gone with the sun and ended incomplete. When remembering I see, When storytelling I doubt, Times of sharing tea remain, singularly. Old arts and myths can collide And find me taken back to that time: The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Unbearable Lightness of Being, Stories of these unfold in my mind.

driving

Driving nice in silence
Jazz me up with your fast acts
Slip of the tongue
In a sneaky masquerade

Don't give my heart or heartstrings
any whipping whiplash
Don't get mixed up in the background
Listening to all backsplash