Where Do You Get Your Ideas
Where do you get these ideas? She asks; poetry is a daunting task.
See the apple, Playdough, pen, stapler, and bleach cleanser I ask?
I use them with “what if” and create a missive in seconds sometimes.
I open a drawer and show her markers, a notebook and sixteen dimes.
Everything in my world can easily end up in a poem, you see.
Items quickly and connivingly jump into my brain and tantalize me
She does not see, she does not understand, and she tells me this too.
I have no other suggestions, for now a dog is being eaten by a shoe.
A horse from outer space is whispering sweet everythings in my ear.
There is a knight with one leg who is limping toward me, my dear.
Ideas are bombarding me from my left, south and right.
All I can do is begin writing with all of my might.
Where do the ideas come from? I have no idea at all.
I cannot figure it out, but the wall has grown tall.
The couch is rolling around with the recliner in a lecherous way.
I will have to get back to you at the end of the day.
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