Muse’s Complaint

“What’s the matter with you, why don’t you ever write me love poems,” Lola asked? “If I’m your muse, your inspiration---like you say I am--- you’d think that at least once in a while, you’d manage to write something that celebrates your ‘muse'.”

In the bar’s clammy darkness, Richard sheepishly turned over his paper napkin, pulled out his ballpoint, and hurriedly began to scribble, “The stars illuminate a fierce and furious power. Their fuse ignites each living thing, green and flesh. You are the army of my sun. I am your conquered planet.”