Today

When writing without passion,
enveloped in the ordinary,
the dingy and good, I smile
at popping words when they come.

Interested to know I still write
about little and diligent,
everyday, and will finish easily,
stand up from my desk, grasp
my bag and whistle home.

Notice a buzz if I'm lucky, or
it's loud enough to catch. Miss
a reflecting puddle on the thought
of what's for dinner, or humdrum.

Thinking that maybe tomorrow
will be the day, when I'll forget to
eat, feel the fire, drop the tears,
and write with passion.