Time Starts

I have excess energy Somewhere: feet, heart, fingers, mind Maybe that's why people take up running, musical instruments or smoking I'm trying to fix it by saying 'hey' here and there But it's still there It's that feeling before several poems appear, at the moment that they might not A heart waiting for a starter pistol A bit lip Drumming fingers on the table I need to dance into the centre of the room That could be done Though the room is empty I could call the dog in But he's only a fan of 'me and my shadow' A little routine I spent maybe too long teaching him Ahh I'm being attacked by poetic phrases I don't want and can do nothing with 'delicate swathes'? I need to look away from long grasses 'counter image reflected in the glass of the bay' That'll be a no... 'the tick of the tock of the clock with a plot' Ok... I'll grab my lunch