I’m in London, or so it would seem. The fog here has settled in this past week like an occupying army. It was cool at first, but the bullet gray is growing old and is quite depressing.
Yesterday I was certain I was coming down with something. Motivation was gone after work last night. Felt better this morning but not exactly great.
It was also yesterday that I felt there was no poetic dialogue going on. I don’t just mean that I felt a lack of connection with any other poets – but I felt there was no internal poetry dialogue with myself. I don’t especially like it when I feel there is a poetic vacuum. Do you know what I mean? Anyone else ever feel this way?
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