I let it go today, so now you're stuck
with leavings, bits of thought now to be pieced
like lace--a doily at the very least.
But that's no good--ah, shit. What rotten luck.
I've got to train myself again to look
for things beyond myself to write about;
eschew these paralyzing swells of doubt
for confidence enough to fill a book.
What, three days in, and already so strapped
for inspiration that it comes to this?
Fill out the rhymes and syllables--it is
just what it is, no more. Do not get trapped.
Tomorrow, maybe, better words will flow.
Keep going now, or else you'll never know.
1 comment:
Tougher to get started this time. A function of getting older? Maybe. An exercise in form, if nothing else.
Post a Comment