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