Uncle Riot and Auntie Virus, Abuse of a Muse

When my muse is busy dodging fire and brick how can it scribe beautiful things. With pepper spray in the eyes batons and viruses whirling overhead balls of anger and hate wanting to lay me into R.I.P. How can it see pink horizons glazed with song birds or morning suns sprinkling silver sprigs over lily ponds. For now, my muse is smashing baseball- apple pie and Chevrolets smothering smiles-putting on yet another game face. Bolting riot gear into heavy metal bones-chewing cans of mace, etching cracked skulls and caskets onto burning pages for now-this is the way my muse is gonna roll until Uncle Riot and Auntie virus head for home-