In that blurry kingdom of inspiration,
muses are trapped in coloured bottles
where grain alcohol transports them onto blank pages.
These muses dance on the slippery pages,
making efforts to stick, to be counted, and be read.
Sometimes, the birthed words fly into the eyes of the drinker
who then shakes off catapulted confusion by seeking the bottle once more.
Paper balls, cracked pen stems, and white spaces adorn.
In a sane minute or two, a sensible chord is struck
in that cloud of dust where clarity is ephemeral.
It might be great art to gamble with muses resident in a bottle;
perhaps not the thought that they live anywhere at all, muses!