To create and seek out inspiration,
I get bursts of energy and start a
sentence–whether be reading or writing it
–before a roar or beep or whisper
pushes in to stop my progress.
I realize that time is a four letter word
and mutter “may I have some later”
—it never appears—even in silence
there are beeps and roars, always,
and inspiration is interrupted.
I wonder and lust after coherent thought,
realize grains of salt and pepper,
crumbles of parsley and sprinkles
of rhyme—meat is a luxury not afforded
—no, not today.
I, and, then, me,
you, love, work,
I throw them into a stock pot
to see if something–anything– will thicken.