Arty Bollocks

Listen, I’m typically a no nonsense
kind of girl. I sit down to write a poem,
and I write a poem.
I think about the syllables and form.
I decide that dancing through dandelions
is definitely too much alliteration.
I know when to show and when to tell,
the words swirling into images for the reader.

I don’t have a specific muse,
the will to write is cultivated time
that I have carved into my daily life.
I write because it is the time to write.

But today?
Today the words don’t feel like special friends.
They feel all wrong,
disjointed and I can’t find a good enjambment
if my life depended on it.

Everything is prose that is
broken with line breaks in all th
e wrong places. And I can’t seem to
make a damn thing make sense.

If you came here looking for a good poem,
I am sorry to disappoint.

Maybe someone who feels the words
like a life force and has seen Kalliope
in her natural habitat will do a better job.
If you want directions to their place,
just ask.