It's a golden rule, a poet should never rush a poem into public view. It's not unusual to think a piece well done, (even a masterpiece if you've been on the town), only to find, a few days later, that it's a pile of crap. Many poets have the urge, (like those who cannot hold off gratification), to publish too soon; I'm prone to doing that myself. So here's a poem I've just written, and if there is no poem here, you will know that I' have fallen prey to the weakness, and have already removed it.
Were you going to write me a love-letter?
Did your fingers falter above the keys?
Or was there the cacophony of grid-lock on the page;
maybe there were lines of off duty taxis,
words refusing to carry love?
At this juncture, I, in the past, have let my fingers
tap-dance away from a love-letter,
tap out a stammer,
the sentences refusing to form.