midnight muse

Fashionistas in a box four by four inches

...1

Camber and plain coals

Neither glow nor sparkle

On shades of leaves just

Beginning to sprout on

The growth of the midnight

Sun bringing only the rains

Of frustrations and guilt

So silently cooped up

In a box four by four inches,

 ...2

We may like the swollen

Bumps on your thoughts

And sheepish thighs yet

The plush and posh of the

Underling’s scowl might

Undermine the proper

Glow of spring and fear

It may seems that it might

Just offend the plain

And the obscure reader

Trying to figure out

The thinking behind

The lavender and the red

so silently cooped up

in a box four by four inches

 ...3

 Yet who knows, maybe

The didactic profanities

Are just the dirty linens

People wear on gold-clad

Robes of fancy, and envious

Haute-couture dying to

Be fashionable on catwalks

Craving to eat parchments

Etched on our ethos to

Disguise the plainness

Of our commonality

In a soft mushy glow of

Linen, wool and myrrh

so silently cooped up

in a box four by four inches

 ...4

These forms and lines

Treading a narrow path

Are just like ants in

A molehill streaming

Towards a chaotic flashes

Of warm lime lights so

Sacred in their claims

Of passionate art and

Skills married into the

Threads and patterns

Being constantly known

Re-known, rekindled

Remodeled in a spiel

so silently cooped up

in a box four by four inches

 ...5

We may cringe at

The basic notion of

A line that swirls on

A behemoth of labels

Or a crateful of crystals

Being splashed like

Solid liquids on the plain

Canvass of a watery pie

Piled high then slowly

Plucked silently like

Groves of petals

On a muddy dessert

Of aromatic herbs and pins

so silently cooped up

in a box four by four inches