Dreams will come soon

cos I’m fucking knackered.

Let us hope they’re greater

than this introduction.

Nor did I feel like responding to another poem…

praise and disdain are distant cousins

that flitter and flutter to the wind

becoming the sleep that’ll engulf my impatient eyelids.

Instead I wave at writers block,

I recognise it as a wistful creature

on the road to tomorrow.

Today, I rest.