muse me

say hey 
won’t you please pour me 
a straight up shot 
(in the arm) 
(in the dark) 
of some rum
-bled phrase? 

fuse me 
(shaken, stirred) 
a word or two 
to spill, some cocktail 
napkin poems to fill 
the time. 

lose me 
to the page, the space 
-bar rage of fingers flying 
and syllables 
in broken keys. 

ruse me 
into happy hour 
when letters clack 
to sky, before it all blows 
by and the hang
-over begins. 

In April we poem. Today is day 21.

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