Halfway through the night
when you wake and
feel the urge to write,

there must be something wrong
with me,
something in the water that I
drink
or something in the poetry.

If nothing's for free
who's paying for the
ink I use,
who's paying the
electricity?

answers I shall seek
today, tomorrow or
next week,
but first
I need to get a little sleep
and
keep my options open.