They say every artist has their muses
mine are Melpomene, Erato, Calliope
They’re off somewhere now, out of their skulls
In some shooting gallery in Cardiff
In a dive bar in Mumbai
Hawking their wares in Bangalore
And their bodies in Pattaya
They’ve traded their feeling for sensation
They’ve swapped their ethics for morals
And they’re beating down the unopenable door
with breath and breasts and promises
and threats
Every artist has their muse
mine is close/far/here/now/never
ever ever ever everafter/nevereverafter

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