Muse or Bemused? ...Rave or Rant

It's the deepest
They ever get.

I think of painters
And their nudes

As if unclothed
Their art improves,

Some writers too--

Like Leonard Cohen:
Nude in My Montreal Apartment.

Really Leonard,
where was your head,

And where has it gotten you
Now that you're dead?

I hate ultimate questions;
They make me sick

But they must be asked
Or why exist?

For me, to be real
Means to write of pain

And be totally honest
admit your shame

Accept your Muse
Whatever her stripe

Well, in my case, they'e ghosts
That haunt me nights.

Oh, I con myself
They're not there

When they disappear
In an electric glare

But they always return
And find me here

Like a nagging cough
Or black despair...

It's all I've got
In a darkened house

But it's where I am now
Not where I once was.