Used to feel so easy
write it all out
like spilt ink washing
across a page
or
ants in milk
oh whatever
now there’s cats
in my periphery
snakes
along the side-walls
and that psychic wound
of being here-there
heartbreak of the expat
Returned
like misdirected mail
never quite healed
no one feels
or maybe it’s just
a private burnout thing
yet I’m far
from sanctuary
or even
sanatorium
and the fire
or is it cars swishing by
on a hot evening
far from
a busy road
a capital
a mental load
a buzz
Is that why, cuz
I don’t have ideas anymore
they’re twisted and
unoriginal
the worst
worse than snakes or cats or cars
no imagination
please-
save me
no one published
this shit
anyway
thought my stories were
just OK
and the funny thing is
the poems are
here
while stories suffer
the yearning
the keening
buffer, buffer, buffer
it never ends
-please
Save As
I’m sinking in sunlight
creeping into
the mundane
and driving on the wrong side
in my head
all over again
Photo by Dilara Yilmaz on Unsplash
clairevetica 