Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Waiting for the Muse to Come by J.D. Heskin   They sit around drinking coffee, thinking of their own kind. Waiting for the muse to come. Now and then, they grab a pen, break out the clay, strike a note, paint--create--something. No tyros here. These are artists stitching together the essence of artistry, much like the ones before, the prime and perished sources who exceeded the tried and the true. Those who drank coffee, and thought of their own kind.     Next Poem
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