Fatigue such as this.
Relief such as this.
Emptiness such as this.
I await more such.
When, IF (I will! I will!) I write the book.
And those tenderly harboured dreams of doing a doctorate.
But what I can't grapple with ~
this ineffable, overarching, faceless sorrow.
O what plagues thy little heart that thou hast poured on paper?
that tomorrow will adorn the shelves of the library
for the world to see, for the world to read
O what a remarkable piece of work is a woman
O what stories incense out of derelict gates
and you imped with sensitivity
and you believer in serendipity
O what plagues thy little heart that thou hast poured on paper?
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