Always Be Writing

 Always Be Writing
 
When you wake in the night dreaming
a poem about a lake-side cottage in the mountains,
you should sit up and make some notes, just a few lines
to act as blueprint, without regard for meter or metaphor,
then go back to sleep.
 
Once the sun is up and the coffee’s been made, begin to build.
Use some weathered clapboard cliches for an alliterative exterior.
Apply a fresh coat of paint for a more original interior.
Dig a septic tank in the back, away from the road,
flush away all unnecessary words.
 
Make the front steps straight and true for your foot.
Find every rhyme, whether at the end of a line or not.
If you’ve planted too many similes as shrubs
underneath the picture window, rip them out, like a carpenter
tears out rotten floorboards, or a dentist removes a decaying tooth.
 
A skylight would provide illumination, but resist the temptation of a wall-sized TV,
you’re better off with bookshelves and a writing desk.
Don’t worry if the windows or verses aren’t all the same size, if some shingles are different colors than  
     others, or if some lines are too long for the page.
It’s fine to consult the opinions of experts,
just don’t let them edit you out.
 
Soon you may want to ask friends to visit,
though, not too many friends and not every weekend.
Ask them to bring their own pillows and towels, to find their own meanings, to hear their own rhythm.
Don’t be concerned with guest bedrooms or linens.
This is your place to escape the madness.
And never stop rewriting.