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Tag: Muses

I die a little inside when I see this

I die a little inside when I see this

  A farmer on the way to market Told his beautiful muse That we’re much too self-conscious These days So she said to him Don’t I know that! As if she were from New York By way of Dublin By way of a steamer A century ago Or was it a zeppelin? Not that it matters Because she flew on her own, Regardless Muses can do that and more Much more Like make us think We’re making the art When…

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Not There Yet!

Not There Yet!

I’m thinking about the way I write and have written. How that has changed over time. How it seems to be missing something, and then doesn’t seem to miss a thing. How my own sense of my writing has undergone changes out of sync with the writing itself. I know what I want, though. I want my prose and my poetry to be lyrical and muscular, two possibly opposing values. I want it to be tough and hard-nosed like Hemingway,…

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