Writing
Was this easy,
Before I thought I knew
What I was doing
And now
It’s easy again,
When I’ve forgotten
Whether or not I know what I’m doing,
Still I pause for thought,
Along the way,
Reflecting upon
Whether or not I’m making sense
But if not,
Whether or not
I ought to be concerned about
Whether or not I’m making sense.
Creativity
Is such a funny thing,
How can I know it when I see it?
How can I tell?
And, what’s sense anyway?
I’m not sure
I remember that either;
I’ve dropped that thread all together,
And next I’m thinking
Of tea,
Vacuuming
And making supper,
Going to work
And coming home again,
Braving the inclement weather,
And of how easily
These words slip out together.
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