more to come

If I am fertile ground
Then every time I write
I use up
All the nourishment I have absorbed

After every piece is done
I need to lie fallow
Wait a while
For inspiration to grow in me again

This is long, slow, sore
I feel stretched, distended
By the work
Of consuming the universe

If I am just a vessel
Then every time I write
I empty
Myself of all beauty

Wait for it again
To come without warning
Take me away
Give me words I haven’t earned.

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