My rhyming steam roller sometimes hits a boulder
\nand topples down into a gulch.
\nWith wheel to the shoulder, I sit and grow older.
\nSometimes brain fodder turns to mulch.
\nAn idea will goad, get me back on the road,
\nget my eyes on the unbroken line.
\nI can drive fifty-five while my thoughts come alive,
\nand it’s those times I really feel fine.
\nBut there’s other times, though, where I do call a tow,
\nunable to rise from the mire.
\nThose times, I feel mean. I could drink gasoline,
\nbut in past it has failed to inspire.
\nRecocking the brain is so often a strain that at times
\nit feels better off empty.
\nA night off with beer or some holiday cheer
\ncan oftentimes be pretty tempty.
\nThen comes the steam roller, all puffing out smoke,
\nand the frontal lobe suddenly fills.
\nAnd out comes a cloud of rhyme, prose and bad jokes,
\nenough to give thinking men chills.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"