Composed

The shit I've written
Could fill a landfill
Fertilize gardens
It's hard enough
To come up with this stuff
But then what to do
With the detritus?
Reams and reams
Of consciousness streams
And lead balloons
Half-baked tunes
Flat metaphors
Wet wit
Shovel it under a blanket
To bake in the sun
When springtime comes
I'll use it again
Compost

Prompted by Sunday Scribblings