Since when have I had this current inside of me?
Before there has been the excruciating birth,
the babies hastily forged, forcibly pulled,
screaming and crying,
from out my bloody brain,
into type and life and legibility.
But now with this season and this time,
an inspiration has moved me to fertility,
wondrous, productive, endless fertility,
the kind where I have so many idea that
I actually can afford to forget some -
and do,
though I wish it not and regret it much.
But there are too many infants in me crying for atteniotn,
and one or two must always fall behind.
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