When the day stays a dreary gunmetal gray
and your mind is the blankest of slates,
how do you call upon the muse?
Do you doodle? Or savor the broth as you slurp a long and winding cup of curly instant noodles?
Do you tap a sleeping maple tree, waiting for sweet syrup to
drip—
or don an aluminum foil helmet and SiGNaL ThE MoTheR ShIP?
Do you watch the dust motes dance,
drop into a trance,
and welcome in
each beautiful blank-page chance?
