I cant seem to find my Mo-jo,
It's wandered off and left me.
bereft of all my creativity,
I sit on the couch and mope.
I've cleaned the house twice hoping to find it,
but the couch cushions stubbornly will not relinquish
any hint of it's whereabouts.
Is it under the bed?
did I leave it in the fridge?
I'm looking in all the silly places now,
desperate to reacquire the mo-jo that keeps me sane.
maybe the freezer in the garage,
the trunk of the car?
It' must be somewhere.
I can't have lost it.
it must be there.
My Mo-jo has taken vacations before,
off to the beach or out to the store.
but it has always come back to me,
ready to go, flowing with energy,
crackling to become some new thing.
Where did it go this time?
Maybe it went to France and found a better lover,
a creative who doesn't need so much pushing,
or maybe a better temper.
Without you there is nothing for me,
The mediocre piddling amateur at best,
is now a plagiarizer, a tracer, a copy-cat.
I haven't checked the garden yet,
Are you hibernating up a tree
The wood pile, a wheelbarrow, a pot, maybe ?
but it's been raining,
today has grown cold,
I am weary,
the grass is wet.
I will try again tomorrow.