Sleep Deprived Ramblings Poem by Matthew Holloway

Where are the ideas
That moment of inspiration
The beginnings of the novel
That lays within me
The thoughts of which
Deny me sleep so often
And seem to sit mocking
In each empty page
What are the words
That I've found missing
Their ebb and flow elusive
That my typeface is forgotten
I know or at least believe
There is a book in me
Somewhere
Perhaps it's something I read
Like Warhol's quote
To be famous for fifteen minutes
Fame, I choose to pass on
Just a book signing
In a run down store
In a quiet town
With a handful of people
Who have read what I wrote
And wanted to thank me
That book, the only book
Where is it now
Elusive and consuming
I'm awake
And ready to write it