I have influenza, and it blows
my fevered brain into mush miasma
that knows no more poetic thrust than
semi-sentient, trodden slush.

This viral infestation really sucks
all impetus to write into far space
where metaphor drifts, lost beyond
head-, muscle-, joint- and backache.

Lying around for days really chews
away my time to write and flesh out
the universe stewing in my brain:
smothered in sodden onions of sloth.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in explanatory, illness, On the process of Writing, Poetry, Screeds, thoughts below ground and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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