Incentive

There are words in my head that have yet to be formed,
And lines that are begging to take shape.
They are kept unread in the vault of my mind
Just waiting, waiting to escape.

They long for a thief to steal my heart,
And, for love's sake, to set them free.
It would unleash, as yet unseen,
A prison-break of poetry.

Phlegm

I cough it up and swish it 'round,

Then spit it out or gulp it down.

Such joy I feel to clear my throat

When mucus all my airways coat.

There's beauty in each little piece,

My body's lubricant and grease.

I wrote this poem some time ago and just now rediscovered it. It's one of my more inspired works.