The blue girl who dispenses pain to you
Why is it hard to believe she's the muse
Humming from Lyra, from Hades rescued?
You gather with shaking hands what you'll use
To the paper. And it's comfortable,
This world beyond the mind, where memories flow
Disguised as the future, voluble
Utterance that shocks as it soothes. We go
To it, never knowing if it's really there,
Despite clean lines and architecture, bare,
Impossible to capture, thus valueless.
For it is only what we lack, an answer,
Exquisite thing that brings out the dancer.
We call it chaos, what's to the flesh a guess.
