Emptiness
Once in a while my brainpan looks alike
a hackney carriage full of hackneyed clichés
and tired words. In times like this, my psych
advised the psycho to unharness wishes,
to burn the carriage down, to make love
to the imaginary charioteer
and, having smoothly closed the above
gestalt, to go for a walk. Oh, dear,
how silent and empty are the streets!
My head is silent and empty either.
This emptiness miraculously treats
a writer’s block. I feel how formless ether
morphs into words again to give a birth
to the entire world and this small verse.
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