no poems for days

My creative juices are sluicing out research papers.

My creative juices sluice over the sides of the damaged dixie cup of my mind.
They spill onto the pages of research papers that have ne redemptive value.
My thoughts spill out in cyberkinetic ink on pages that don’t exist in the real world.
They print in black on white paper spitting out from a laser printer. That can’t be good
for the environment that already overflows from trash and refuse.
No refuge for the academic. No respite for the mentally exhausted. No sleep.
Ideas slip chasm over chasm, rapids in the river of dreams. Slipping, sliding
smashing my ideations of a low-carbon footprint.

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