turn off the lights.
my head is naked,
train of thought disappeared
by the band of guerrillas called
displaced from all creativity,
soul-leaded, deadened eyes
stare back from an embrace, empty,
an abyss? the horizon?
for a spark,
lightning or earthquake or love,
divinity in jeans or a textbook,
oceans, empires, escape.
I close lids over slumped shoulders
the abscess of my own over-cooked thoughts
frittered away in too many instants of fantasy
so many sad schoolgirl dreams
bemoaning the absence of drama,
absence of impetus,
absence of anything.
what was it you were looking for again?