- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Muses go home for Christmas
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sometimes they just aren’t there
those evasive Muses don’t answer
I plow ahead anyway
paying the dues of one poem a day
as a tribute to my bumbling
a shrine to all the uninspired words
inked out on paper fit for the fire
I don’t know why, there is no rhyme
and little reason in the madness
God knows I hate to write longhand
I guess it just feels good to type
and see some black challenge the white
of the screen as it mocks each line
and laughs at my pauses to spellcheck
Perhaps I write about sex too much lately
sex is not a spectator sport
Poetry seldom wets distant panties
but good poetry can wet the eye
I guess the Muses go home for Christmas
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