Waiting in My Den
An American sonnet about my lazy muse
Published in
Dec 6, 2020
Smartphone has juice but no buzz, light or sign
no rap lines define when pastimes flatline
the blinds remain drawn from inky-black night
dark rhythms delight in bluesy soul blight
audience of unread books line pine racks
lacking eyes, they slack with unbroken backs
cup half-full, or half-empty, needs filling
firstly unwilling, thirst leads to swilling
passive-postmodern portrait Einstein stares
mum-glare unaware of drum-snare that flares
beneath him, leather is soft and well-worn
where I stall, forlorn as creeds fall, forsworn
mind’s eye unfolds for an unhurried muse
refused, disabused, I’ve nothing to lose.
Barry Dawson IV — December 4, 2020
