Unnamed Muse

 

As to evolutionary advantage,
I can’t think . . . well perhaps
One.  If I write, my headache
Dissipates, but you might say
It is better without the
Headache or at least to have
It go away with prose,

But perhaps it isn’t like that,
Perhaps the advantage lies
In the dream-filled past,
An access to the realm
In which beauty resides,
And the coming forth
A describing to those

Sitting around in rapt awe.
What good would that be,
I can hear you ask?  Perhaps
None today.  It can’t
Be quantified, but perhaps it
Was part of what made humans
Those many years ago along

With music and the painting
On all those old cave walls. 
But if that’s true, maybe
We’re obsolete and not an
Evolutionary advance, useless
Now like the appendix or tail.  I
Need four Ibuprofen, feeling

My head pound, to ease the
Pain.  My unnamed Muse
Has squeezed.  I’ve given
In and write.  She seems
To enjoy it, reading
Above my shoulder
Then slips away.