One of those nights,
Maybe I’ll write.
But my mind feels dry
Just like this wine.
Glass one, two, three, four.
Maybe if I shut the door.
Enclose myself,
Put the glass on the shelf.
Get a few words,
Okay, this sounds good.
Thoughts pop in
And out again.
Damn.
That was almost something.
Sometimes it flows,
And I just know.
Other times,
I have to pry.
I had a good ending,
But I gotta admit,
It completely slipped my mind.
Another swig or two,
Something to do
While I wait for the inspiration to hit me.
Ten, eleven, twelve, one.
It seems as if the wine has won.
Trying to find the phrase,
These hours feel like days.
I hate to force,
But I can’t find the source
Of my art this quiet night.
