Sometimes when I try to force a poem, nothing happens.
But in the moment before I fall asleep
In the swirl of commotion that consumes my mind
Pops in that perfect line that was just
Out of reach
Then the flood gates open
My mind is awash with line after line
It goes as quickly as it arrives
If I don't get them on paper quick enough, they start to decay
That's why I keep a notebook next to my bed
Often when i read it in the morning it doesn't sound like me