I need to write this poem fast.
This inspiration will not last.
Yes, look how love between two people disappears
In a cloud of tears.
My inspiration’s source will always exist, though.
Remember when you were young and bored in school and everything seemed slow?
The attempt to write fast
Does not help inspiration last—
And even the inspiration’s source
Immense as it is, will not stay its course.
It falls, knocking me down like a giant tear,
Aching inspiration heralding her cry in a future day: “I’m here!”
I had to write this poem fast.
Her kiss missed my lips.
If life is good, be happy!
And if not, be happy!
Because none of this shit, baby, is going to last.
