Random Dung

Sitting here in this tepid room
trying to type, asking
where are all those
damn monkeys
when you need them?
104 keys, or more
and I don’t know
which to press first.

My muse, is she lost
or just hiding, watching
enjoying the antics and struggle.

I am sure by this my muse
must be sooo amused.

Ah the apes
give them only the letter keys.
Well also the comma and period.
Oh, and a space bar or two.

Would monkeys create
best on Qwerty
or Dvorak
Preferring one key
or it’s location to another?

Lighting sage smudge
smoke rising, dispersing
Langoliers eating away at a mindscape
of fading inspiration.

An open invitation inviting
the muses in.

Randomness,
even random number tables
are edited.

Order in our minds
found even in disorder
and chaos.

Nine muses
I want only ONE
one petit
gorgeous
lascivious
muse
coming up behind
her erect nipples grazing my shoulder
as her breathe whispers
inspiration
into my ear.

Typing in Google’s ear
“randomness”
ACCESS DENIED!
it screams, access denied.
Random acts of unkindness!
I think, even my oracle
has deserted me.

An infinite number of monkeys
typing away and out of the billions of billions of billions
Come a few words to titillate the erogenous zones
of the mind and soul.

All lost, buried under infinite piles of
monkey dung.

A few of the nine
Calliope, muse of epic poetry
Erato, of love poetry
or Polyhymnia, sacred poetry;
Ah but, today it must be
Melponene,
the muse of tragedy
who has visited my keyboard.
For the keys have wretchedly failed
to be moved by even thoughts
of hoards of defecating primates
pounding and pounding upon them.

So, wrapped in a moonless sky
of serenading stars
I take pause
exhaling passions void
as the cedars move in to
sit quietly beside me
waiting for the night’s Goddess
and her affectionate glow
to rise eagerly
over the conifer clad hills
joining us, sky clad as she is
in timeless reverie.