Being married to the Muses means never really knowing if,
on hikes through the desert,
I’ll drink from manifest mirages made with the purest waters of wisdom
or icy kegs of ego on tap at every oasis.
But I gratefully don divine disdain, play the fool, and tumble under jester’s jingles,
because on special occasions
I wear a king’s crown and waltz gracefully
with one of my nine Queens in a magnificent Olympian hall.
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