Someone told me that inspiration comes in the form of an explosion
Another told me David came drifting through their ***** ceiling with a notecard in hand

Well I’m staring at my ceiling
In this library
And saying, the hell he does…

God doesn’t send me angels.
Inspiration is not hiding in a carbonated can that I just have to crack

Inspiration comes to me from a PlayDo machine
Something I grind and feed
Sometimes there’s something
Sometimes it’s all dried up
It comes in chunky nuggets, or smooth pasta

But it needs to be massaged
You need trained muscles, oiled gears
Writer’s block is negligence
Rusty cars never start

Wear Blue
Start Rituals
And write
Write
Write