Whenever you see it approaching,
time to cover up your lawn.
Inspiration doesn’t work like that.
If it’s going it’s already gone.
This poem is really hopeless.
It was years ago when I turned her on.
I knew it then. I knew it.
If it’s going it’s already gone.
You could say that about my memory.
My sanity and memory barely hang on.
What exactly does her face look like?
If it’s going it’s already gone.
Ridiculous proportion! The tip of her nose.
And what is she putting on?
Why did her face do that to me?
If it’s going it’s already gone.