Cud

Life happens to poets, who wait, parched beneath wellsprings, for inspiration to fall.
We savor the saccharine morsels that coat our fibrous tongues.  We do not chase the river, or fight our way upstream.  We are swept by the current until we nestle in the eddies that trickle truths into our ears.

inspired by being fed up with a guy who tends to keep posting that he needs to find a girlfriend.  chill dude.  let life happen.  consider the way of the poet.