What's going on with my muses?
Gone missing
or burning down their houses?
I saw your star in the sky
I never thought
it'd fall
so quickly.
Some past loves
are loved,
married
with warm beds
Others on the edge
And they called me crazy.
What must it be like
to peak in your teens?
Young, handsome men?
What is it, then?
Strong, unwholesome
and on fire.
Playing with your lives
houses of cards
tenuous wires.
The spark, it dies.
What of it then?
Where are the hearts
of my young, handsome men?
Aged now, killed by conceit?
I kept the pictures
I keep you always
in my heart
I may not love you,
but your life has value.
The silence, it deafens
and I want to say something
but where are my muses?
Where are my muses?
--February 26, 2014
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Discussing process: Very often with me, my first draft is the only draft. I woke up today with these first lines, the next few came in the car on my commute, and now, just now, writing -- it is the end of the night. It's about 10:30pm. Josh is already turned in, and I am going against my eternal intention of going to bed earlier.
It's actually a little easier to edit work on the keyboard, since you can delete and retype with the flick of a command. I always write in pen, so you can pretty much always see what my previous choice of words and placement were on paper.
This poem, as usual, is based on past and present personal events and goings-ons touching, or in the orbit of, my life. If you're curious to know what's the what, I'll tell you. Otherwise, here it is, plain as day.
Feb. 27, 2014 -- Discussing recording: I recorded this with Garageband on a Rock Band microphone in my bathroom since my cats were harassing me. I know nothing about recording. I'm thinking I should take cues from Chocolate Rain, since you can hear my breathing b/t some lines.
The creator of Chocolate Rain, Tay Zonday
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