Another day on the chase.
Running after a muse that escapes me with grace
I struggle and grasp
For the verses that evaporate with my dreams.
Pull into parking lots to scribble nonsense.
Before I forget,
Or before I realize that it's nonsense.
I roll the words around on my tongue before I write them
And it all seems so pretentious.
They're all borrowed words anyways.
If I was to only write a poem I could be proud of,
I would never write a word.
