I thought I knew what a muse was, but no.
now i know how little I know about them,
muses I mean. I found more, but they go
away - again - like dream lessons from REM.
With good dreams, I will fight to remember,
and with good ones, they will keep teaching me.
bad dreams singe you - a never cool ember
teaching you the same - what it is to be.
One cannot pick one’s manner of muses:
anymore than one can know one's extent.
what remains to be is what one chooses,
for those choices become every moment.
lucky to find some who mend misery,
with any luck, we'll learn more history.
jts 15 June 2015 stoneartist.com
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