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Miscarriage of the Muse It's such a miscarriage to abortion twist city, We shouldnt do what I do or everything would come to a halt. Im too slow for the card-carrying universe therefore will be ground under Heels, batteries, multi-epistemologies, everybody knowing their logocentrism. You must, to be hired into dust, and dust is where the money must be. Post-structuralism is moving in, a turn-key house. Spiritualism is dwarfing ghosts to fit your alma mater, A silly word with hysterical use. Everybody reads In order to keep up: refunctioning semiotics could make you more money, Get you published in the haughtiest of intellectually dishonest urinals. It all goes down with a flush if it works, if you've mouthed the latest zip code, With enough digits to reach the paradise of hermeneutics, So that common daily discourse is poetry of the muse now denuded Stripped bare of her motorcycles, and whipped dry for being creative.