Fluxus

I.
Sleep's the only cure for this,
 but
           then again,
this is
when the inspiration
                  sometimes flows. Then every thought
                           is versed, and I'm teaching courses in my
                                                   mind;
 telling how I
suppose song
was
where I learned it first - in reformatted copy-writing.  I
                               stick it out and know when
                                  it ends.  I trudge
                                                 through weeks, it seems, weeds of words, till the
path clears, and I can run.
Patient with
    the repetition, gold with habit.  Nihil ex nihilo.

II.
I return to flow as often as light flies to night.
I banter with right,
        then give up fight, because the
weave of words broods, dripping, before the pour.
                                        I am clutching the gush of usage for lack of better.
                                                                                                            Best
                                                                                                                  to express with elements, the trivial,
            the

revery, the vital yielding fluvius,
            the beast, forever
                                     ravishing in
woods of apperception. Too gentle, and there's a danger
   of duty calling, inciting, iterum, so
                    I outwork all possibilities, let the
                                                              efflorescence, yellow, sacred, lest inspiration bolts,
                                                                    or worse-
I groom the list of helps, begin
     once more and center.  Dealt in waves, I dance with what
                                                    I have.  The healing
canters by, I catch her course. I return to flow.

Three Word Wednesday