Falling Flat - 5-01-25 Poem by Leria Hawkins

Sometimes I lack the rage
To ink the poets page
There's a blur of this or that
Short verses falling flat
It's just my kind of luck
My thoughts confined or stuck
Without a muse that's fed
There's only rubbish in my head

Most times I lie in wait
For a nibble at my bait
With something more than spatter
Of words that do not matter
I peruse and skim and dig
I smoke and take a swig
Trying hard to wake the muse
With a bit of weed or booze

I search for just a crumb
To rise above the numb
But the river hits a dam
To hold me where I am
I'm caught between the lines
My muse is wasting time
And much to my regret
This is all I get…