The inspiration pours in and drowns my mind
in it's horrified frenzy to find the elusive words
that my subconscious genius has pre-ordained
that seem to dissolve in the light of consciousness:

The hand lusts for the hidden pen
which must then dictate for the ever-racing mind
who's train of thought is leaving the station.

Will I miss it?

Well, I often do;
the conductor has a schedule to maintain.

It just makes it that much sweeter when the train is caught.