I sit down to produce a jot of verse— I stand up, and I pace around the room. What might have been a banger will get worse The more I pace. To hesitate spells doom.
For any work which takes a focused mind— And poetry is surely in that group— Ideas must flow all at once, I find, Or else I'll lose myself: caught in a loop
Of thinking, and rethinking, and—oh, fuck! I've dropped the thread entirely by now. That's what I get for pacing: a big suck; The glimmer of a topic, but no "pow!"
One saving grace: there is no Poem Boss. When I screw up, it's no-one else's loss.
Missing the MomentMaxwell Joslyn
A recent CMS change introduced visual CSS glitches. Please bear with me as I hunt them down.Published at 22:17:04-0800 ⇦ Previous ◍ Next ⇨