Into the Woods

There comes a point when you have written
all
the same words a hundred times over, a thousand times, eleven years of
repeating yourself and getting nowhere, how is
that
for ingenuinity
38 years of falling back into that same sludge and still
head full of foolish ideas
that you could possibly ever escape.

Can you not even withstand a little
pandemic?
Your fortitude is, disappointing,
to say the least.

Spring is springing
in that way it does
in that way it has done after
every dark winter you've ever seen
There is
always a moment just before daybreak

When you are quite convinced
it will never come at all.