Oh, whispering muse,
thank you for your generous gifts of inspiration
wrapped, curiously enough, in fragile bubbles
that drift briefly and often imperceptibly toward my general direction.
I’d be even more grateful if I could receive more of your messages.
Could you possibly work on your aim?
I’m never quite sure if the packages are for me.
Also, I’d really appreciate less subtlety.
I’m open to jackhammers or sirens.
As for your timing.
Your delicate whispers often arrive when I’m unable to attend to them,
like when I’m on the cusp of sleep and my body is paralyzed with laziness.
If only you would deliver your precious cargo at, say, 11:23 PM.
I will clear my schedule for your feathery touch.
And please, please make the bubbles of sturdier material.
Even on those rare occasions when I’ve been prepared to collect the goods,
including grasping for them before they evade me,
the bubbles burst,
losing their contents to me forever.
life in jello 