if only there were a poetry depot
I’m excited but also terrified
from the expectations specified
I’ve psyched myself out
and now I’m in a drought
What do I do?
I fret and I stew
for its when I must
that I go bust
I resist and revolt
I need a lightening bolt
but I must write poetry in April
perhaps I should be grateful
I have words to share
and then
and poetry swoops in to save the day
there was a bit of brilliancy, there,
for
a
moment...
but it’s over now