Stacey Dye

You’re bummed,
no denying that.
You’re in deep,
know what it is--
poetic quicksand.

No ink has flowed
from your pen
in a long time.
Face it, your Muse
is AWOL. Big time.

No doubt she made
a run for it with the
first thunderclap.
That little primadonna
hates the rain.

Crawling around in
the dark, slogging
through the muck
of your dysfunction
ain´t what she´s about.

As for you,
no choices.
You´re trapped in this
unfortunate mind. Might
as well put your boots on.