Again and again,
over and over,
the muse voices shrill and plead,
crying to be heard, demanding, crazy,
undeniable...sane?
I laugh dementedly,
happily unhappy, loving the voices.
My voices, in my head, muses abuses,
resounding silently to all else;
they chose me to be free,
the one to see,
to own the key,
to drink muse tea,
and join the we
of the crazy people who hear
the abusive voices of muses.

Erin Moen
8/16/02