I'm not an enthusiast of cleaning. Sometimes though I work too hard for something as simple as finding the right words.
Vacuuming in a Dust Storm
Hark Uriel! Hear my sordid cry
I'm steam ironing in a monsoon
Pressing words that flatten and die
I'm dusting in a Sahara storm
Searching out the mechanics
Of meter, rhyme and metaphor
I offer you a piece of amber's sap
To match your tresses gold
Exchanged for words you hold entrapped
Let go! I implore, you have many more
Not that I would manipulate, I've a
Manipura's golden Heliodore!
Or must I tempt the tricks of Mercury
Swift of words and feet?
I'd run to catch a word from Hermes
But it's game among the Saints
Who gave us words and worlds
I see a desert canyon in need of paint
To inspire the Gods and spheres
Working my way until I hear
My words have moved the lyres