sometimes
when i don’t know what to write
i’ll just lightly tap my fingertips
against the keyboard
i don’t press any of the buttons down
it’s not to make any sort of mark
on the electronic page
rather
i’m trying to shake creativity loose
from my fingers, hands, arms,
body —
i’m trying to rain down onto the keyboard
and maybe one of these puddles
will create words
that i can splash into
and from which
i can start
a poem
writing while
breakfast is on its way
writing while
thinking about the coffee i’m unable to drink
writing while
my phone is struggling to charge
writing while
picking dog fur off of my clothes
writing while
haunted by all the laundry i need to do
today
writing while
only able to picture
the fantasy of potential nap(s) i could have later on
writing while
so many other things are
swiftly swerving in and out of my brain
and i can’t seem to concentrate
on the writing part of
writing
while
with a long slew of
tough days
and busy nights
and sleepless dreams
behind me
i know
i know
i’ll catch up
i’ll catch up
eventually
i’m just so excited this is
almost over
turn off the brain
turn on the writing
turn on the morning
the focus and the words
that mean nothing
that mean everything
if i don’t think too hard
if i don’t think hard enough
if i simply stop thinking
maybe these poems
may make sense
eventually]
the poetry isn’t flowing this morning —
it’s dripping
coagulating and spurting and leaking
that is to say
it’s still coming
just in fits and starts
and stops and lags and
drags my whole sense of self
along with it, whether it’s
coming or not
and all i can do
is try
to stay on for the whole
ride
if i write of the sunlight
the sounds outside
the playlist and the air outright
is that disingenuous to myself?
playing with form
[but maybe not
function] in order
to make my poetry
function as more
than just words
on a [digital] page
not feeling the morning page poetry
this morning
but that doesn’t mean
i won’t do it
i mean
i continue to do this
every
single
morning
whether i’m in the mood or not
just to have something to do
just to have a habit to latch onto
just to have some proof
to say
‘i was here, i had thoughts and feelings and insights, too’
and maybe someone will read them soon
and maybe someone will read them in hundreds of years
and maybe
because they’re all digital
they’ll disappear into the ether
but
maybe the ether will get a kick out of all these poems
and they and the void can talk about me
behind my back
when i’m long long long gone
i wish i could be
creatively consistent
with rhyme scheme
but as it stands now, the found moments
hit well
but any effort at keeping it up
sound contrived
and like a five-year-old thought it up
and while that may be fine for some
i think i need to stay doing what i do best
for the sake of getting
all my words
out
so
perhaps someday, i’ll write in true verse
but today
[and tomorrow
and all the next few/many mornings
of morning page poetry]
i’ll stick to free-form
writing for aeons and aeons
just to find a concept i’d
never attempted
to understand
kipventures 