It is Sunday morning
a perfect time
to simply skate
across smooth pond
and weave poems
out from my heart
but instead
I keep tripping
over my thoughts
and some can not
even get out of my mouth.
They are stuck
as though glued
to my teeth.
The topic is
I tripped and fell
over a dear friend’s reply
I feel hard and got
a black and blue imagination.
So instead of smiling
at a well-crafted poem
I am bruised
and frustrated
and stuck
with pen with no ink.