Have the Panties Stopped Screaming, Clarice?

Sometimes when I am at work my head fills with poetry for no discernible reason. Flipping the pages of my notepad while cradling a conversation on the phone, I think, "the army of unutterable law has triumphed and truth is vanquished at last". I have to ask the person talking to me to please repeat that last part and I wonder: when poets are at work, are their heads suddenly filled with lines from sales reports or the current price of a yard of rayon fabric?