It seems I should start the day
checking off the boxes on my gratitude list.
House. Central heat. Water. Flannel sheets.
Etcetera. But all I really want
is to grumble about how my brain kept me up
last night with
all those songs and craft ideas and book projects
and wondering if I would even have the strength to
get up on time because
even get enough sleep at all?
It is a greedy and immature bastard,
my brain, being the cause of
my own worry
I mean, really
if it had only had these ideas
just two hours earlier
I could’ve done something about them
instead of wasting my time
reading a magazine
But instead, like a needy child
to keep me awake
with its litany of requests
that can’t wait until morning.
Should I write that idea down?
What if I forget that chore, that connection?
Will it all fall apart
if I don’t
do it all
These ideas are like rare butterflies
that if not caught and pinned down
will fly away
never to be seen again
and will probably alight upon
Or so they try to tell me.
Maybe they are just a bit of
sausage and scallop pizza eaten
just a little too late at night