Not another blank-page poem. 
Writer's block blah blah blah. 
It's a hard life trying to come up with this shit. 

Two months now. A hiatus. 
And what's worse, in this day and age, it needs a thumbnail. 
Can somebody make me a thumbnail? 

Oh. No one can hear. 
And no one is listening. 
And no one is likely to read. 

What if this is some new kind of Shakespeare? 
Dante making passionate love to Dickinson? 
A postmodern magnum opus? 

Hilarious. As if. Dream on. 
What we have here is a strong case of delusion, 
mixed with a mild amount of self-aggrandisement. 

And yet it's still an act of balancing on a tight-rope - 
of getting to this point without you clicking away.