A starting point (a poem)

Yesterday was yesterday. This is what I’ve got today…

That glass they’re always on about
will always be partly empty
overflow leads to runoff
with a sip off the top
the hollowing out begins

That page that writers fear
has an undreamed of expanse—
which you’d expect, after all
of a receptacle
for ideas and emotions

The universe
without edges or surface to give it dimension
looks like nothing
no way to grasp it
or get to the other side

This poem, words arranges in lines on the page
is a trifle
an artefact of insufficiency—
never complete in any form
but merely a starting point

(20 November 2018)


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