a poem without a title

i brush my teeth

wash my face

enrobe myself in flannel

and then sit down to write —

what, i don’t yet know

as i have passed the point

of the lines composed

in my head while i was

walking from the bedroom

to the bath —

and i am not writing this

for a large audience

or for you

and barely even

for myself —

but there, the words

are written

the thoughts

are captured

the purpose —

that of dredging

the wells of my

inspiration to see

what lurks within —

has, for another night

been served

and i am once more

for bed.