throwing poetry at me

I wake up with half a sentence prancing around in my dream state. Snatch this phrase up and run for the bathroom. By the time I finish, the words are gone. Dissipated as quickly as they had appeared. I am unconcerned. My muse is clairaudient. She hears poems from a plethora of dimensions. I take my cues from her, for she is splendiferously industrious. Throwing poetry for me to catch all day long, and sometimes at night in my dreams.