Sometimes, I say to myself....

..."I shall write a poem!" 

I circle around the sheet of paper while jagged Tesla bolts of confessional misery and self-absorption shoot from my head. Just before they touch and scorch the unsuspecting sheet, I pull back and try to gather my senses -- "What the hell am I doing?" 

But then the rabid lightning squeezes out again. So I slap myself, then fling myself against the wall. Ricocheting from one side of the hallway to another, like that transforming dude in the movie Altered States. After a duration of such self-therapy, I regain control and finally sit down to try and write a poem.

In my insane opinion, a poem should open space for the weird of the out-there, the odd of the time-here, the wonder of the gone-where. In other words, ego sublimated into a different substance.