This weekend, I had some pretty dang good ideas for some pretty dang good poems. And I didn't even write the ideas down, much less turn the ideas into poems. Now, they're gone. This is a stream-of-consciousness that developed from that.
Lost
I had all this inspiration the other day,
And laid it all aside.
As punishment, I guess,
Nothing came today.
I'd like this to be longer,
But there's nothing more to write.
I've failed to use
The triggers pulled for me.
Now the gun is pointed elsewhere.
(What's with all
This violent imagery, anyway?
Am I trying to tell myself something?)
Maybe I do need a good grounding.
One with an Enforcer!
So ground me, pound me,
Beat the sense into my skull.
No-not the skull!
Elsewhere,
Somewhere secret,
Where the words need to be
Drawn and quartered-
Pulled apart and cheered at.
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