studying in a library on a rainy day
at times, as a writer, you're screwed
if your words ramble without climax
paralyzed into a marginal symptom
the main characteristic of your spirit
corresponds to a muse whose tariff is
billed in polyandry or polygamy's art
for you know, y'know so bloody well,
art never reacts to monogamy's coin,
and chic words' silhouette, cultivates