My Muse the Monster

My muse is not
a lovely woman,
but a hulking, monstrous creature,
slightly barnacled from his trips
across the oceans,
his skin red and calloused
from long walks through deserts,
with a gigantic alien head
(notable for small black eyes
and a great jutting jaw)
slightly battered and scarred
from his many misadventures

Wherever I go,
he always seems to find me,
seething with new ideas and projects.
He disturbs me night and day,
leaving little time for rest
or everyday life

Once, I locked seven doors
and safely inside
imbibed a fifth of whisky,
which soon brought on deep sleep.
I dreamt I was in Hawaii,
and he came down from a palm tree.
I dreamt I was a bird
and he said that was a word
so I could not be a bird,
but must write

My muse is not a lovely lady,
HE.
"A plague on him for a mad rogue"
(- Shakespeare)