I haven’t been writing a lot of poetry lately, but last night I went to bed determined to write a poem before going to sleep. I started one, and it was geezer emo shit, so I scratched it out. Started another, and it was flowers-and-bees fluff, so I x-ed that one. Ended up writing a short poem that wasn’t about not being able to write a poem except that it was, then started to go to sleep.
Except.
A first line came to me. It was a crap first line and I knew it was a crap first line, but I also knew that if I started there and wrote something, I would get somewhere.
And holy fuck, I did.