Our muses can be a backdrop to tragedy or romance or maybe both. Like a land lost or perhaps never appreciated. The neglected places evoke memories of a secret nightmare in a three-dimensionable world both exclusive and shared with one or more.
The silhouettes like palm fronds on a channel quiet measuring the years by colors by the seasons and washing away wistful prayers, odes to antiquity.
Some prefer the lights, the confusion and the din but I want to live life not as part of an ant farm in some condemned city of rats and dirty hazes.
Ole Miss are making a comeback to relevance
Floyd, Times Are Changin 