poems inspired from the prompts from the blog "The Sunday Whirl".
Words: last, white, final, number, bare, refresh, gassed, shift, gear, smooth, nine, evidence
I've gassed the poet starving inside me,
and given up hope of being
the last, great, smooth, white number.
I've shifted into final gear,
stopped hip-hopping with the nine Muses
and Mnemosyne, that old wise Mother.
I've stripped bare all evidence of literary leanings,
hit pause, refresh,
and start all over.