My Muse is Amused

I don't care if I produce a bunch of really shitty poetry

It's just that these words flow freely out of me

And I know this might not be the right time for me

To let these thoughts form poetry

But of the things I control my muse is not one

She makes love to my mind and won't stop 'til she's done

I sometimes finish a poem only to start another one

'Cause in spite of the first climax she's only just begun

She can do things to me that I'll never understand

Her movement forces exclamations that are completely unplanned

Her greatest pleasure is the movement of my hand

And my pen on a page to record our last meeting

As she caresses my thoughts I can feel my heart beating

Faster and faster to catch up with her rhythm

She always brings new inspirations and I can't just dismiss them

And if I try to write when she's not around

I have to be sneaky for fear I'd be found

'Cause she's got quite the temper and can get really jealous

And when it comes to anger she can get overzealous

So most of the time I let her have her way

And I try to keep her happy to make sure that she'll stay

With me in the morning after nights when I'm too tired to write

And I simply have to say, "Baby, not tonight."

My muse is amused by the effort I put in

To every smell, sight and sound, down to the drop of a pin

Just hoping to find the right moment for our next rendezvous

To be inspired by a thought that rings true

So I catalogue moments of joy and of pain

So I'll have stories to tell her when we meet again

About love found, love lost, and love yet unknown

About the things that I've learned and the ways that I've grown

But sometimes I wonder how much she cares

When ages have past since the last time that we shared

I lose confidence and wonder what I must have done

For the rhythm and rhyme to have left my tongue

Lonely, lying there inside of my mouth

As if all inspiration had migrated south

And I'm left waiting for the arrival of spring

Hoping she'll come back on her beautiful wings

To touch my mind with her gentle affection

And direct my pen through a series of lessons

That teach a young schoolboy the methods of pleasure

That result from the use of an excellent measure

Of verse at the appropriate time

If only she'll revisit my mind

I would smoothly stroke the her curves with my pen

And a page to keep track of the sin

We commit in loving each other too much to wait

For our intimate moments to be approved of by fate

And sometimes these intimate feelings

Cannot be contained by four walls and a ceiling

So our shouts can be heard

In each little pen-stroke that forms a new word

That may someday be shouted at comparable levels

From a stage by a poet who's caught in the revels

Of the page-printed echoes of our ecstasy

Every time my muse visits me

No Working Title Ch. 6

Eventually of course I had to leave the mall. Having become sufficiently convinced that the Barnes & Noble equipped with a Starbucks could only provide me with safe cover for so long, I knew I had to make a decision. To run or not to run? Whether tis nobler... etc.

I, as always immediately began running through the consequences of this decision in my head. If this, then that. Except these if/then thought processes ran through at least one hundred different scenarios. I followed the logical outcome of all the foreseeable forks in the road as far as my mind could take them. Admittedly, executing this thorough analysis while driving a motor vehicle is probably more akin to driving while intoxicated than I would like to believe, but this is the way my brain has always worked and I never learned how to stop it.

Once again I had managed to arrive at my chosen destination by some form of teleportation, because I have absolutely no recollection of the roads I must have driven along to get from the mall to my place. However, I was there. I quickly grabbed nearly all of my clothing, leaving only old Halloween costumes, and four of my five suits behind. I was also smart enough to grab as much food as I possibly could. Fortunately for me much of the food I had at the time was neither frozen, nor did it require refrigeration. Of course the assortment of snack foods and desserts would really only provide me with calories not any sort of nutrition. But at that point I didn't have time to try to put together balanced meals.

Having gotten all of the aforementioned items into my car I once again hit the road. This time being careful to drive along roads unfamiliar to me. I figured if I went places that I never went to it was likely that no one would be looking for me there. I happened across a Bank of America branch I had never seen before which I was quite grateful for. I felt safe enough to make the stop and empty one of my checking accounts. Banks aren't really inclined to give people ridiculous amounts of cash. I was promptly informed that if I wanted to close my account they would only be able to give me a cashier's check, which for all intents and purposes can only really be used to open another account at a different bank. Conveniently for me the teller I was dealing with was easily flustered and she actually answered me when I asked what the largest amount of cash was that they'd allow me to withdraw. Something makes me feel like that was a against teller protocol...

I walked out of the bank $10,000.00 richer, at least considering only the wealth I carried on my person. Then I proceeded to pick a random direction and drive, stopping only when my body cried out loudly enough with hunger pain to force me to eat, or when nature called loudly enough. I didn't sleep that night, I drove. Seemed like a good idea at the time, and whether it was or not, my brain was so ridiculously over-active that night there was no way I'd have slept if I had chosen a place to lay my head.

I had clearly decided to run. I had not really made this decision consciously. I had merely started running while I was deciding whether or not to run. This forced me to adhere to the following logic: "Well, I've already started. Why stop now?" Which may not be the strongest of arguments when considering drugs, sex, or any type of detrimental activity. However, I'm willing to accept the faulty reason behind the argument because I feel that it's justified in the case when those sentences really should read: "Well, I've already started running for my life. Why stop now, when that just means I'll be killed?"

So, taking the "Why stop now?" attitude with my current situation I decided that I needed to determine the best possible way to continue on this course. However, there's not really any useful information regarding running for one's life taught in any university's aerospace engineering curriculum. So I really had no idea what I was going to do.

I decided a severe change to my appearance could only help me hide. Having grown the long shaggy hair and beard that comes from two years of grad school taking over one's life to the point that one has little time to consider doing anything other that class, work for class, research, or preparation for research, I decided to shave. I went to the first barber shop I saw in some small town I only visited because my hunger pains had been strong enough to knock out Ali in his prime. I told the kind old man to take everything down to the skin, "Shave it all off." I told him. "It's high time for a change."