naught [draft.01]

the Muse forages, and ruminates beneath
anything grey you can describe,
like;
rain clouds, and
self pity.

the Muse knows the depression that comes
from submission to words as common
as;
rain clouds, and
song birds.

the Muse tinkers at the edge, with altered
receptors, saved from naught’s grip
by;
rain clouds, and
double ristretto.