I didn't think I'd be
writing poetry again
or for a while.
It's neat
how things come back in style
with the way to approach them.

I'll find what it is you
wanted me to write.
It's hiding I think
in this cold purple night
with the fog rolling in
like something
sick from within
finally coming out
Too trapped to get out
but now it's out
it's out it's out.
Cry for me I can't believe it's out.
Keep looking surprised for me.
It's out.

Feel I want to scream
and spin and die.
and stand on my head
and sigh.
and sigh.

So what did you want me writing again?
Something about or for
or having to do with you,
my little muse.
Go. eat some glue.