Ideas
for poems come
At
the most inopportune times
Often
while lying flat in bed
That
one
Second
After
you have stared at the
White
paint
Ceiling
for an hour
And
just
Before
your eyes close
This
always happens
Not
formed prose
But
rather seeds
A
title
A
block of marble awaiting
The chisel
But
then like the rain
The
words slow and are in an instant
Gone
And darkest
night falls
Like a
weight as your forehead
Once
full of promise
Is
filled instead with useless dreams
Of
joy and superpowers and
Gardens
in the
Sun.