Freeing a verse

The Excremental Qualities of Poetry

I sit down
Knowing that something
Must
Come
Out.

I wait
And I wait,
I doodle and scratch my head.

Finally,
Some thing
Comes out.
It really isn’t much.

The form appears
To be familiar.

It is not pretty.
(not like roses)
But
It sure smells like it.
(definitely, not like roses)

I wonder what
The Captain
Would think of it.

I can say that my experience has been
Less than
Satisfying.

Yet, I do love falling deep into it.