Book Rest (Poetry)

I’m leaning on you — Leonard C —
I treat you like a pad
to rest my paper as I scrawl
whatever thoughts I have

I press upon your photograph
perhaps your muse seeps through
and throws a rope around the necks
of words to draw them true

I feel your eyes the other side
you have a nose for fake
I scribble wild another line
then scratch out each mistake

It all reads glib or too contrived
I blame a wayward pen
so shred the paper — bite my nails
then start the thing again

What is a poet? Please define
precisely who I’d be
if I could blacken-up a page
as well as Leonard C

I’ve no excuse — I cannot blame
the cold or writer’s block
but nothing comes — the muse she sleeps
I hear only the clock ...