i used to have poetry, before my mind broke,

shattering into some hundred-million glittering shards,

and when it fractured, i think the words went with it.

they don’t come ‘round much anymore,

 

‘cept in annoying Seussian couplets of subjects mundane,

the banality of which makes me totally insane.

 

there was a time when the words flowed like water,

sentences would spring fully-formed in my head,

too many to attend to so i let some go,

let them drift away off into the ether,

committed to nary a scrap of paper,

fully unrecoverable.

 

i wish i had them now,

a point of reference to get me going, a stepping-stone.

i wait impatiently

now that the patchwork is taking hold,

for something to inspire or bring words by on wings.

i’m anticipating motivation

while refusing to remember

there was also a time, before my mind broke,

that i worked at it.