stuck

my mind is stuck in poetry mode
can't help it
fragments and flavors of words
stream through my mind
and scream at me to write them down
trace them across the page
so they can live

even ordinary things
like how will i make that cake
for DramaBoy this weekend
he wants a four wheeler
white on white
(ew)
i think he'll get white on chocolate
because that's yummier
but do i make it 3-d or do i
create the outline like the truck cake
i made last year
(he likes vehicles my boy does)
3-d would be more interesting
but also more difficult
so i don't know

weighing my options
my brain spits out the words
in non-prose waves
rejecting conventional paragraph
sentence structure
punctuation
--though i'm not quite cummings there--
and trickles on to

how unmotivated i am
today
so much to do and a meeting too
and all i want
is to string words together
in stream of consciousness
but not conscientiousness
because i should be doing
what needs some doing
instead

it's grey outside
and winter beckons us onward
toward whitened fields and icy roads
i thought this month might be as grey
and though it has not been technicolor
still it has shot moments of vivid
happiness
through the uncertainty
muting the shades of my mind

perhaps that's why
poetry seems more becoming
prose needs constant color
vivid verbs and sinuous syntax
my words can trace themselves
across the lines of free verse
with greater freedom
weaving their way through stagnant thoughts
grasping at moments of clarity and
movement

so if you hate poetry
(or just my poetry)
and hope my prose will return
please be patient
i'm sure it will come
in time
when lines no longer dictate endings
before the final thoughts

and perhaps
you could leave a comment or two
just because
even if you hate my poetry

perhaps you still love me