An agitated sigh, followed by a
Series of asymmetrical tapping.
It’s unrest that only such sounds betray;
At close, the arcs of shoulders sharpening.
All blank walls glare from all sides seething at
Incompetence ’till draught claws up the throat.
Dull colors almost dare to vomit and splat
Just to fill—feel, too—substance, any and all.
Revising those roots in reality:
Stale lifeless words littering the pages;
Though the soul remains unchained by the void,
The sense of unpaid debt in meaning crowds.
Fortuitously as the stars align,
Fresh ideas will reverse the decline.