Friday, November 14, 2014


I like it when the prompts
come early,
and the poem is done
before breakfast
and I can think it is good (perhaps);
before time has the chance
to prove otherwise.

Because when it doesn’t-
when the morning wanes
and lunch breaks the timeline,
and afternoon bumps by,
and there are still no words
on the page-
my mind begins to mumble.

And I know that grasping
won’t make it happen,
but I grasp anyway,
ripping words at random,
forcing rhyme and rhythm
to do unnatural, illegal things-
and my mind begins to grumble.

And dinnertime comes
and there is still no progress,
and the words retreat
and lie, hiding in their books
where they worked for others-
but not for me, today.
and my mind becomes humble-

which is not actually a bad thing.

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