I never thought I’d use an online Muse service, but there I was signing up on one, paying for premium features, adding my photo and profile to dozens of other aspiring writers. My writing block was impenetrable, my slump insurmountable, my misery inescapable.

One morning man in nursing home

walks out of room with robe open, genitals hanging out.

Lady next door shouts Oh my goodness!

Then slams her door.

Man lifts genitals and says They dead.

there’s a man in the park saying it’s been a while since he’s seen
a pretty girl open a book
and before I have time to curse his soul
to the depths of Hades
I laugh a little

You are in the middle of a bad marriage
or a great affair, or you are spending
your Vegas losses in a bar.

I’m turning my pity party into a purge party and
all my exes are invited—
dearest darlings, serenade me at 
my silly little slumber party starring a bunch 
of queer gals with one(1) Emma™ in common—
what could possibly go wrong?