Poems write me
Even as I die in this boring life
With business matters dangling over the days and the wife.
A sentence keeps me in line.
The soil is usually a line or a phrase,
Which may end up being the pretty flower,
The title, or the poem’s (yawn) most important line.
Helpless, I let creation have its say.
If a line is what struck me first, it will probably stay.
Of course, I may end up throwing what fell from the sky away.
Oh, and the root of every inspiration is you.
In this poem, for instance, you wait in the stem.
There you are. Strike that line. No, that will do.
Poems write what they please. I don’t write them.
