12/1/10

I'm extremely brilliant in my dreams,
Every word comes alive then jumps
Off the page and the imagery is vivid.

Fingers they dash in blinding speed,
And never do my keys stick on me.
Punctuation and grammar, I'm a whiz at.

But upon my waking hours
All words they dangle like bait
Then blink like neons to the rhythm of my eyes.

Each letter burns out
One by one until there's nothing left to hone.
So I sit up and grasp for straws.

That soon collides with
Another unfinished or crappy poem.
Nagging me, nagging me all day long.

Frustration is not theraputic
But a lesson in patience and a respect for process
Defeats those annoying times.

Before the joy of every last draft.
The many words at play in the evening
Within a brain stressed over time.