i woke up
on the wrong side
of my brain
the deficiency of
finishing a piece
has cut a swath
through the heart
of this lingering
insubstantiality

the next story
is already singing
the instinct is
to dive right in

but this petulance
pervades creativity
the tide has not
rushed back into
the vacancy within
i am hollow
a golem of bird bones
windchimes chattering
trying to fill
the void too late
to realize that it
is always hungry for more

i wonder at this
ability to give more
knowing one day
it will run itself dry

what is a fool
without an ocean
in which to drown himself

a plastic skeleton
hung on the door of
a model home
kitschy but ultimately
a monument to nothing