POETRY!

Motherfathering poetry.
What do I write about? "Is this a bad time? Should I come back later?" says the poetry in my head, and without waiting for a reply, he just up an leaves. Don't you understand? You are the root of my agitation! Come back and make things right!
My pen keeps gasping out in sputtering starts like the tin Lizzy of literary defeat. Does that even mean anything?

SHMAAH. I am just going to have to WRITE and do nothing else until my petshop ferret of a 4-7 stanza abab quatrain chokes out a cute and obsequious meow, "Buy my shitty poem, Raina Joines! I look like a kitten!"

I am seriously on crack.