My Writing Runs Along Beside Me
Some days my writing runs along the track next to me.
Sticking out her tongue or wiggling her hips in a provocative way.
My muse is hanging on to this elephant for dear life.
Pretending she is slowing her down, actually egging her on.
Other days my writing sits in my lap and pats me down.
Pat. Pat. Pat. Like a cat who is getting her nest ready.
It is difficult to ignore this, so I pick up my pen if I am able.
My writing starts often in my dreams and finishes right as I awake.
That’s the writing I am the most curious about,
As I almost never am able to capture any of it.
Maybe the last three words
By the time I return from the bathroom, they are gone too.
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