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.