At the park in the Dam
The Boy and his Her have Left.
Footsteps.
And
Standing now in the Kitchen
A telephone rings
In the same tone it has.
She is not calling
The Ocean
Is not calling
The Muse
Oh the Muse!
Is certainly, beyond all others, Not Calling
For in Her soft hair,
Has been found out.
Again.
Trot Trot goes the Fox
Weighing, to the boy, the same as he did prior
To the romp in the Vondelpark
Where in the mind's chambers
He has now found little
But empty cans
That are turning quickly
Again
To empty shoulds.
She gives chase knowing the Fox will evade
Any and all maneuvers the crude Muse has to offer.
Barking to the night, the Fox and the Muse
Are False Conceptions
Of a boy who cannot grow
A beard.
Who has given up on his romance
And replaced it with Mass
Oh Mass
What Joy is brought by the thought
Dense
And Sound
For the Fleeting Pleasure
Of Possibility
But Wait-
As the Fox grows Heavy
And Slow
The Muse touches him

The Muse has caught the Fox


And The Boy who has created the unlikely pair
Remains unchanged
To his horrified chagrin
And returns to his dream.