chasing bunnies

what happens when I try to write

last night, as ink spattered
across my page in fits and starts,
in Rorschach madness I saw
a plot bunny.

it gathered itself—long ears,
twitching nose,
merry bounce—and
hopped down a
rabbit hole, leaving a clear
ink trail behind it.

I chased it—fingers
racing—free associating
twists and turns, up,
down, all around, lost

between steampunk unicorns
with silver horns and copper cogs
dancing on mechanical hooves
and pink, fluffy aliens who
read minds and time
travel in space ships shaped
like cabbage leaves and carrots,

and then, I remembered.
this story started in a simple
garden with a boy meeting
a girl, characters my ink
hadn't touched
in seventy-two pages.

and so, I saved the bunny trail,
and found my bed, determined today
I'd find the right thread. but,
fingers dancing, I found this
poem instead.

line count: 32