pretty polyhymnia

she wanted to be the catalyst

the inexplicable force that begged his pen

to press into the naked moleskine pages

the marrow in his metaphysical quill

‘mark them, make them yours’

she wanted to be the collaboration

the cathartic bleed of ballpoint ink

and the absorption of the vellum

‘tell them, make them hear you’

she wanted to be the rumination

the phantom twitch of his index finger

hovering over the shutter button

the capturing of an inimitable moment

‘take it, make them see you’

because…

being his unspoken inspiration

his ever so far away (but always so close)

his parallel dimension kismet

an alternate universe muse

the words he scribbled

at 4 am

the photographs he developed

on gloomy mornings

the manuscripts

thumbed by ungrateful publishers

all forms of his art

translated into a sacred language

only they spoke

in silence, when creating

‘mark me, make me yours 

tell me, make me hear you

take me, make me see you’


a. duncan, 2017

artwork: “The Muse” by Gabriel de Cool

 

 

 

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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