Thomas W Case

Sometimes, You Wait

Some poems don\'t
work.
No amount of
tweaking will
fix it.
You can\'t finger it until
it comes.

Push the delete
button and
start over.
You write because
you have to.
It\'s in your cells.

You\'re a salmon,
swimming up
stream to stay
alive.
You write because
the nuthouse yawns,
and beckons.
It waits.

The cage door is
open, and the
water is
tainted with
mercury.
Fly away, or die.

If the writing
isn\'t working,
go fishing,
eat a tangerine or
some brussel sprouts.
Be livid
Be silly.
Study the vulva
and the orchid.

Think about what the
color black tastes like, or if
pink whispers or yells.
And write until
the trivialities take
flight from your
life.
In the surrendering,
triumph will come.