don't force the words on paper like a tube of oily ink it will splatter on your hands make your ego start to shrink it's OK to wait til later when the feeling's turning pink and the slanting green upon the lands greets raptors slyly with a wink
don't slap a poem on a page in the haste of no job jitters you'll only feed a hungry rage and feel your talent's shivers
unless . . .
the desire to accomplish burns gallons of the best and you've shook your soul wide open put your biceps to the test
your mind has not been empty but gathered up and stored every little bit of lyrics filmy not so unlike a dragon hoard
the words art each embroidered and silvery trappings fastened on with diamonds, blood, and feathers a new masterpiece spins on
When I want to write a poem but don't feel quite inspired, I write about uninspiration.