Curious to know,
what happens now.
If it is writing, for writing’s sake,
Does it curl up under the couch and die?
carving out a moment to feel through words,
on a blissful, balmy evening, under a pergola with a beer.
Exploring the world without your attention,
it is calmer, without the cocktail of chemicals,
And all the monsters you could be.
A thought returns,
it is a lot of effort to drag someone through the dirt,
a lot of effort simply to gloat at someone’s humiliation.
but as always it is all the unknowns that grind through my soul like grass seeds in my socks.
