might start again
or pick up
where I left
the stove on?
where o where’s that
heat
gone
art sparks inspire me
but
letting life pass by me
hardly seeing poetry
anymore
winter afternoons
so bright
and empty
rolling, scrolling, hating that void
inside
trapped and looking, desperate couching
crouching, louching
afraid a little bit
to put a toe
above the parapet
what if
sandpaper grates
on dry skin
forgotten how
to do this now
chafe against
imagination
engulfed by
failure
of everything
Image: Claire Doble
