One quilt, and a top sheet

Yesterday,
as I fell asleep,
my head,
so full of poetry that I refused to get up and write.

Things have been like this lately.

Earlier,
a year or two ago,
everytime I couldn’t sleep
I made myself write.
I would get up,
write a few poems,
and easily go to sleep.

And last night,
so many lines scrolled past,
asking for me to hook,
but I refused, breaking my first rule of being a poet
(how funny, that even in poetry I’ve created rules for myself):

You will write whenever you get an idea

Instead, that poem is lost.
I will enver know it,
never remember it
quite the same.

1/23/2020