A Critical Condition

Blinding white and clean linen crisp, the page is ready to go.
That page unfolds in front of me like a new blanket of snow.

Should I undulate and write my name in scripted, yellow pee?
It would electrocute me, a weird, poetic Christmas tree.

I want to impart wisdom, a poet farmer, planting seeds.
But my thoughts are dry and roll around like western tumble weeds.

Like the knights that seek the Holy Grail, I am on a mission,
To transition a critical condition composition.