Some days I am a placeholder. It goes against my tendency to live-quiet-but-with-purpose. Lately I am holding my breath for something to shake loose, take shape.
Scribbling and scratching among the type helps me shape the shapeless hours. I'm not creating keeper poems. But making things matters. Maybe all writing is exercise, a preparation for the very next thing.
How to Get Through
With bright effort,
Consider the danger
Cry, and give