Evergreen… When The Leaves Fall

I haven’t written a bad poem in weeks. Nor a good one. Ebb and flow, you know. And the day seems to end shortly after lunch. And it’s ink dark before even a hint of evening appetite.

It all makes the cocktail hour murky. Which leads to supplemental consumption and mild depression before dessert. And bad poems approximate a sugar buzz.

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poetry panics in other words to hightail it on the lam free to flee and gone to ground and looking around in other words frown ...........