Finding Inspiration

All goddamned day

The bitch sits there, wrapped in white
Her chin tilted up, all proud in her robe-like pajamas

Five, ten, a hundred times you could call to her
But she will sit, just out of sight, full of herself like some pampered thing

And sneer, and smirk, and stare

That useless muse.

Only gets off her pedestal after you've put in your time
          The moon at it's highest, your eyes nearly closed.