Here is a curiosity,
For those who are, at least in theory
Recompensed, for putting hand
To task, and making, on demand
The thing, the message, art or object,
Statement, or ongoing project:
What to do, when one of the
Above is calling, and you see
No beam of light, no wicked spark
No brainstorm pulling up to park
Beside your desk, or in your head;
No Muse on toasted sourdough bread –
To pack in, or ride it out?
The mission, clearly, without doubt
Says double down, and get the grey cells
Sloshing once again, come hell or
High water. And yet that seems
In contradiction to the dream
Of Making Stuff as life's great dodge,
The means of holding off the stodge.
Perhaps. But really, all the gig
Consists of is one rather big
parade of zero hours, met
By hook or crook or desperate
Tetrameter. What can you do?
At least I've met my deadline. You?