Call upon your muse, but should she respond
Beyond a ventriloquism … Explosion!
The sonnet will not hold; move to a space, beyond,
To a liminal place. An alchemist implosion:

Petrach’s Laura, a fair-haired effigy,
Her voice eclipsed by his timeless poetry,
Ossified in the poem's formality.
A bourgeois statue to the coterie…

Should your muse speak, with a Midas tongue,
And like placid waters, yield a reflection:
A deceptive image, Narcissist’s palindrome
That, under the surface, is an empty perception.

Oh muse, what are you beyond the poet’s stylus?
Impotence, it hovers over a well of liquid gold.
Penetration, perhaps, will bring the moment to crisis
For your signifiers are barren, yours masters dead and old.

Roll your prose into a ball, roll it until it explodes!
Oh, the friction of a muse’s refraction! Oh! this sonnet can not hold!