We feel inspired to sling our words around
with wild abandon bordering insane
until a rhythmic satisfaction found
within our spirits helps us to remain

upon the plinth 'Accepted Normal Man',
at least to all appearances we give,
but every poet true will understand;
only a nutcase bothers with a sieve

to filter out the words worth spending ink
upon a virtual paper born of light
until our peers can look our way and think
they know our souls with second hand insight.

The poet's inspiration is a dish
best garnished with a whim served on a wish.