Sometimes I wish the poems
Would write themselves
On the insides of my eyelids
So I could memorize them in my sleep,
To record upon waking.
Written in the ink of starlight,
Emblazoned on the night –
I’m sure those would be the best poems
I have ever written.
And who’s to say
That doesn’t happen?
Maybe I just can’t read starlight
By the light of day.
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