It is too much to bear. The TV chatters with late night talk shows. I try to focus my mind on literature. I am supposed to be a producer of great literature. It is not quite going according to plan. I feel the calling of the verse slipping away. I am not getting to where I want to be.
Inane jokes aside
the stilted suits spinning tales
bleary we listen
The failure weighs on me. I try to write down the passion of the moment. There is nothing. The flow does not exist. It is merely illusion. It is not possible for me to get on with it. Try, Try, Try to no avail. It’s a waste of time. It’s a waste of human emotion and thought. I can’t overcome it. It’s a creeping malaise that overcomes me. My back is not strong enough. It can not carry me through the night. I struggle with my thoughts. I try to wrestle my imagination into order. I try to convert it into art. It doesn’t want to transform into something better
Inspiration sinks
band sending off honored guest
nothing real is gained.