Drifting around on a cloud,
Waiting for something to happen,
I talk to myself out aloud
Trying to break a monotonous pattern.
I'm piecing together the puzzle
Of plot and characterization;
I'm arranging an order from muddle
And getting some organization.
It's not true that I lack inspiration
But the page looks at me like an eye
Waiting for some explanation
To darken its brow by and by.
I wander around in the kitchen
Doing chores as an aid to my brain.
Until now all I've produced is this poem
But at least I am writing again!