A poem has been eating at me for months. Pressing against my brain to be written. The first line repeating in my mind until I started to think it was a line of a song I had heard somewhere . Last night after a writing session I had the line in my head but not the energy in my body to try what I hadn’t been brave enough to attempt with the line and write it down. But then 5 in the morning arrives with a call of nature and an impulse to grab the pen. The other impulse forgotten . The 16 lines flowed easy enough, their imprisonment making their desire to escape onto the page all the greater. I read it just there and while it obviously need works it sounded pretty damn good to me. That hour at 5 between sleeps producing what hours of procrastination had failed to achieve.