Poem 3

I almost wish something bad would happen
Reason to unfasten the moorings and let this thing sail
Morbid thread: the death of a friend would send me off to create and contemplate.
I lament my lack of a consistent creative mental state,
Is it this place? Or will that follow me if I retreat?
Creature of routine, it must be some of each.
My mind desires discipline, my body just wants meat.

My head aches and my neck muscles are screaming but in most other respects this is an ordinary night
An ordinary winter plight amplified by the rising hellish tide
Where everything sounds like sirens

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