My prose is turgid, it just hasn't got any energy
You have me like a drawing, erased, coloured in, untitled, signed by your tongue.
The moment of inspiration can come from memory, or language, or the imagination, or experience - anything that makes an impression forcibly enough for language to form.
I always say that I'll have a go and see whether the poem works and if it does, then fine.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
I'll be left writing picture books and fairy tales