(What mania did DeVinci mask while romancing the Mona Lisa?)
Harvesting this bedspread garden
How plentiful the pickings
Procrastinating poets are simply love-stricken simpletons
Chicken scratch is wasted word whimsies that sicken
Praise and loathing for The Tale
Hails and hatred for Dickens
Artistry exhausted makes a virile pen impotent
(Whose voices are disembodied in this domesticated mausoleum?)
Olden fields are golden-growing
Mistletoe dangled
Dayspring whimpers for the coming of the gloaming
Delicate, electrifying woman
Like a fuse box dismantled
A kiss without music is an acre for the mowing
(Where's the salivation for vowels and consonants?)
Pruning the emerald leaves of elegant lyricism
Every utterance
Every millimeter
Left shamefully in shambles
Sequoia trees severed by editorial criticism
In the midst of restlessness only locusts will listen
Blindfolded stargazing on barefooted travels
(What's the salvation for vows and contentment?)
She's the eroticism of Erato
Pomp and Circumstance of Polyhymnia
An amputated Grecian statue
A graying deity taken for granted
Immortal femininity has inspired insipid manhood
My love is more than just a muse
She's a goddess mishandled