I don't want a replacement, but I think it's time. The mountains are all about breathing and sweat. I need invasive thoughts to pull me from elevation to elevation, to show me paths from the heady intoxicant of inspiration to paper.
I need something silky; a phantasm, night-like. It must be dizzying and drunken. Swirling and tightroping the border of sane.
Muse, raise yourself! Restring your crossbar, find the stroke and syncopation of abandon, and amuse me!