NEEDLING

My brain is dead. There is nothing there to share. Definitely nothing to argue about. It’s a sad state of affaires. I wish things were different. I’m starting to not want to be here in this city, in this state, in this country. I no longer enjoy my job, as I do not think that my person is being appreciated fully by the powers that be. The pay is meager, the hours long, the moral recompense inexistent. The poetry is simply not anywhere to be seen. Words... words simply stacked randomly without meaning upon my shelves... words scribbled upon stacks and stacks of papers. I do not understand any of them, nor am I moved to try and do anything about it. There simply are not any words inside my head which speak to me in such a way for me to place them down one after the other in the hopes of making music. I am brain dead.