the good ideas,
ran out yesterday.
How do I spin, something real, something poignant
It’s like spinning thread-
It either works by Magic-
or you are in the wrong fairy tale altogether.
her cupboard is bare, it’s barren, infertile.
bare to the bones-
bare to the touch.
All the good ideas ran out yesterday.
Once i dared, to stick out my hand
BUT in the end, the cliches stampeded me-
to the punchline.
saying very little or anything,
original at all!
The purpose of
the poem itself-escapes me,
it eludes me-
it dislikes me.
As I go after it-chasing after it-like a rabid dog,
and nipping at its heels.
–All the good ideas ran out yesterday.