…
My respiration and inspiration,
the smoke of my own breath…
-from Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself
…
Nothing zings today.
None of the words want to come
out and play. They’ve all got
minds of their own,
a groan for this relentless
scorching sun and one
or two gripes to grump
and crimp and pinch
away from the page.
Perhaps if I in
-hale my own hope smoke,
poke them around a bit,
fit them together in some
more amicable way, they
will grab a cocktail and
decide to stay.
…
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
Indeed, maybe a cocktail is ALL they need 🙂
I know the feeling of “nothing zings today.” Maybe it’s something in the air and we need to inhale a little deeper!
Love this line: “Nothing zings today.” It makes me think of Hotel Transylvania. 🙂
Love:
“one
or two gripes to grump
and crimp and pinch
away from the page”
“Perhaps if I in” … Oh yes, hide away inside yourself for a while. It’s a necessity from time to time. Always leads to a poem or two, eh?