Pause Button

Of late, my muse: needy. A truce or a treaty it seems is in order. The flow, rather meager, unwilling, not eager, a poetic hoarder. It's coming and going; it's fun when it's flowing. It's frustrating knowing fatigue has been showing and output is slowing: a single oar rowing. The brain needs a resting, from rhyming and jesting, The cells need recharging, expanding, enlarging. I'll pause the keyboarding hop the excavator, get the engines roaring, come back again later.