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.