Fumes

They say you shouldn't shop
for groceries when you're hungry.
Maybe poets shouldn't write
when they are tired, not so much
in body (though there's that)
but deep inside the sinew of
the spirit, weary-hearted,
stripped of energy of thought,
fatigued in frame of mind.
Words matter, see, and so
the sort of words that flow
when everything inside is empty,
(drained, the engine's running
but it's fumes, you hope the fumes
will last just long enough
to move you where you need
to be to get refilled, renewed,
restored, rejuvenated) may not
be the sort that people
should be reading.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014