Multiply, Magnify, Quarrel and Spar
When the muse and I are meeting,
the tryst is often fleeting;
instead of loving and kissing, we spend time sparring,
and soon it’s her I’m missing and my poem I’m marring;
weary, bleary, all fagged out;
toppled, knocked-down, then dragged-out.
I want to feel better
like a real go-getter
but she ends up catting and hatting,
and I end up calling her out
Am I sinning
or am I winning?
My clarity is thinning
as my poem I’m (re)beginning,
and she just sits there in the corner, smirking, grinning.
Feeling snoozy and woozy after a catnap intermission,
sleepy but not weepy as I plan my word-sedition,
it seems so fitting
that I’m still here sitting
weaving a doubled webbing
as the day’s last hours are ebbing,
but the warp and the woof of my threadbare woven words
come apart under hoof, under fingerpecks like birds;
and the slighted, put-off muse seizes my cloth
and eats holes and hollows in it like a moth.
This post is a blend of the A to Z Blog Challenge and NaPoWriMo. To read other A to Z bloggers, click here. Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem that incorporates the idea or at least presence of doubles.