from where doth inspiration come?

the vanilla page bleats

clacking heels swagger along grouted tile
strangers neck behind a mustard umbrella
verbs nag in present tense
and this will be another classic.

i think id write something like this:
please understand the passage of life
the breath, the metabolism
with its emotions
and that somehow
there was no space for this there
and there seemed no better resolution.

some things are dangerous
like being a hermit
and expecting to one day have a good conversation
or to be a romantic
and to think love wont break your heart

so its a thinking that drives insanity
and some are just better foolers than others.
was something not switched on
that i still dont remember they'll never change
and probably neither will eye

and working from up till down keeps some people
feeling like they're making a contribution.

what if i stopped all of a sudden
and let everything just happen
regardless of consequence or desires.
would i turn orange
or start to sprout?

am i not doing something right?