There are millions of rooms in the mind of a muse,
All dim-lit with thoughts too wild to choose.
Worlds unfolding with a blink of the eye,
Castles, deserts, lovers—gone by goodbye.
One foot in the grocery aisle,
The other in a kingdom lost to time.
While the barista speaks of soy or oat,
They’re sculpting moons from windswept rhyme.
Traffic lights blink—green, then red,
But in their mind, a pira...