Forced art

Inspiration a well, depleted.
Willingness a selfish playing dog.
Moments uncounted yet so few.
So in the chair you sit or on the grass.
With a sunset, a beer, a lonely company.
Or right now next to a rhythmic clock.

And force some words on paper.
Some notes on five horizontal lines.
Some pictures on your camera.

Are they nice?
You tell me..
Are they art?
I tell you..
You tell me..