September 9, 2025

I've grown accustomed to the fissures

Formed when the high intensity

Of creativity crashes down

In icy cold reception rooms.

I've become immune to the emptiness

Imposed by my vast expectations

Such that every single line

Will bare open and exposed.

------------------------

Each interval grows a little longer,

Each interregnum more vacuous.

If absence makes the heart grow stronger,

Then this stupid poem should be miraculous.

-------------------------

I did manage to turn this caesura

Into a semblance of satisfactory imagery:

But I have no time for reflection,

Intermission begins immediately.