10 O’Clock Muse

So on ever thus.
And redly-faced justly so.
So shamed, to the dark returns
To scratch again at the black,
Gnashing at the tasteless inklingness.

The neap of night
Floods the ears as well.
The outside world falls deafly still,
The senses all stone dead;
The music of the spheres drowned out
by the cacaphonia.