Great service often begins on a barstool and with a smile
But where do we meet our muses?
Is it the same place we discover our uses?
How exact is our certainty,
How precise are we?
Certainly we have our issues.
Certainly we do:
Attract opposites and attract catastrophe.
Subtract from all earthly abstracts in our impotent attempts of achieving true communication via conversational mastery.
Mostly we fail at serving each other worthy nouns. Like the titles of King or Queen, Brother or Sister, Elder or teacher.
Ever more the choice of adjectives are weak. Lacking of substance and undertone. No beauty, no passion. We purposely describe one another as lowly, useless; bleaker.
Seeking after outward praise and attention without accurately depicting others’ struggles, the successes, the verbs…
The motherfucking verbs keep reality!
But still we could uplift each other as the “S” carries her apostrophes.
And challenge incoming questions with bold exclamations capable enough of silencing conundrums or existential queries.
Aren’t similes and metaphors like exotic flings with ground loving angels disguised as people.
I don’t wish to read your mind, if only we could reason
I’ve met a muse a time or two, people I could believe in.
bodies I could touch through their psyches and translate mixed emotions into bar tap feelings.
“Penny for your thoughts?” She inquires.