Barbeque Chips For Writing Ideas
It is six minutes to midnight
I have been drinking Red Bull for three hours.
It usually inspires me.
Nutbush is going around in my head,
but it has been done.
By Tina too.
The deadline my songwriting partner gave me
is one a.m.
She knows that I have an avid belief that
my muse has her best ideas at night.
Especially from midnight to two
I eat a bag of Lay’s
Barbeque Potato Chips,
for ideas.
Crunchy. Scrunchy. Bunchy enter my head.
Too silly, even for me, even for 12:34 which it is now.
I call her and beg her to give me another hour
2 a.m. is what I was aiming for in the first place she says
Knowing me not half as well as my muse,
nonetheless knowing me.
It is now five minutes to 2.
Will she be mad if I call?
Especially if all I have is
Crunchy? as
I already threw out ‘scrunchy’ and ‘bunchy’.
I chuckle at myself, wondering if my muse
is asleep, or merely dead.
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