She says to herself,
‘Go with the first thought’
And watches her hand as she writes that down.
There was almost an italics catastrophe, with the L wanting to preemptively,
Grammatically grotesquely,
turn itself straight into an F,
Respectively,
But she knows hersef…
Self.
Self-reflection on Sundays,
Plays chilled tunes and turns all chat to off.
Off clicks the jug,
She scuffs snug sheepskin slippers past the sink
And drinks down caffeine forced creativity.
Go with the first thought,
which was singularly,
solely
and only just that.
What’s next?
Go with the next thought I guess.
Which is….
…
