You cannot force a poem;
It comes of its own volition
As fast or slow as it pleases.
If it pleases to come quickly,
Hold on for the ride, and try to keep up,
For once it has eluded you, you cannot recover it.
Inspiration like to play this game
Where it throws a bunch of stuff at you all at once
And expects you to catch it.
And sometimes it even throw you stuff
That belongs in two, or a few, different places—
At the same time.
I hope it’s fun for Inspiration
Because it isn’t fun for me at all
Even though some fairly decent stuff come out of it.
I must have a love-hate relationship
It doesn’t care.
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