Lover’s Block

Lover’s block is not writing. Question:
When is an artist happy?

When they don’t make art.
I haven’t written for three

heady, steamy
free-falling weeks and South Korea

seems a soft shadow away,
the Soldier tucked away
with all the other rainy-day monsters.

I’m happy to be quiet now, a silence
born of putting sad things back;

They are in my attic boxes. How can
it be that I fell

inelegantly, stupidly in love
as if his heart were a storm drain or
(worser phrase) a manhole and

I was the dumb broken ankle
that resulted? How can

everything be fresh-hued – even Wednesdays (day of birth,
Humpday, universal hate-day)?

That’s the look
That’s the look of –

I’m confident he will never read this.

I am so sure of this one,
He doesn’t even have a codename.

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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