7 o'clock muse

(A poem from last November...Spring encourages the oft-times reticent poet within me to emerge...)

7 o'clock muse

O you, precarious crescent,

floating over my ecclesiastic

studio; come, tip out milky


check me against your

set of dangled variables; the

glowing group of slowly arcing


waxing always famine to

fat and back, but each one peering

down omnisciently -

grin beneficently, being you yourself a

morning dauber of pinks.

November 1, 2005
(c) P. Timothy Gierschick II

the fourth samba  – (Tuesday, 18 April, 2006)  

out of those that I have read of yours this is my favorite!

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