HOUR #8 (Lack of progress)

Silence is not golden.

At present, it is a pounding, penetrating reminder

of failure.

The air conditioner comes on from time to time

my sole sound companion;

as it achieves a loud monophonic bluster,

I just want it to end.

I can take the heat but not the monotony

It reminds me too much of my present predicament.


I find no comfort in being alone with my thoughts

when the thoughts do not come

when the ideas that seemed to be flowing

ebb suddenly then stop against an invisible dam-

a beaver’s wet dream.

(All puns intended).


Outside my window,

the wind pushes across the wide street below

foretelling the storm to come

It takes no prisoners and gives not one damn

I would ride it to escape if I could.

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