Me and Mrs. Muse, we got a thing, a fight.
She comes to me with mighty nightly leer
But turns her bitch ass home come sunlight.
She seduces my daylight vision’s crafty trip
wets me up my wadded panties stuffed up
my jeans snugged up into jiz of jealous drip
Then she’s off to some other clit, slit or dick
leaving me in the kitchen’s neon buzz sink
dried up drizzle of crusted cum’d up slick.
Where ya been mutha fuckin’ cheater cunt?
Whose fake cock have you been riding lately?
Making your rounds of minds’ decrepit songs?
Oh won’t you come my mistress sweet, my love?
Snuggle me deep with mystery rhyme and weep?
Sleep in my words your breathful hymn, my dove?
For only the moment of you will deepen my deep
and face and force and forget you your denial
though frost and fire in others’ words you keep.
In the gaze of the other 
Is the Muse really cheating? Or is she just resting? Perhaps if you spoke kindly of her – to her – and thanked her for what she has brought you before, she may return refreshed, renewed, and rejuvenated, ready to regale you once more.
nice rant,…. takes a sudden turn to gentleness two stanzas before the end,… Twist and turn in every phrase. In what suddenness did you birth this? An appealing picture of the corporeal touch and go in the word’s flow….
I was riffing on the missing muse theme, the first poem, “Where is My Mistress Muse?” was self-pitying, the second, “Mistress Muse Has Left the Building” more pleading and this one, the third, more manic, angry and sweet, trying all angles to get her to cooperate. Ironically, I wrote three poems on how I had no words and needed inspiration.