i hate it when

i get a fantastic idea for a poem or song in a dream or in that stage of half sleep and half consciousness and stubbornly refuse to wake up and write it down. i think its my way of spiting good ideas that come to me at an inopportune time. like im trying to train them to come when its more convenient for me. another such casualty this morning; something about time and forever.....why do these things never come at dinner time, or when im bored in lecture? they’re like nagging little children; coming to me in the best part of my slumber; that hour or so before dawn when you’re half conscious and pleasantly aware of the fact that you’re sleeping and loving every minute of it. i tell them to go away and come back when im more prepared; they never do. slowly one small clever phrase turns into an entire sonnet, and all i can do is passively lay there and watch as it floats away from me as i ask myself why i cant be that poetic when fully awake and conscious. another casualty tonight, no doubt. another early morning hour of torturous inspiration and another day of small, silent mourning over its loss.