real
nail clippings
collect neatly in a pile
on a corner of the desk
uselessly next to the phone’s
truculent silence
computer screen’s baleful
stare cowers inspirations
engenderment, there’s no
miraculous escape
– a bleak bludgeoning
to death of creativities’
incipience breaks moods easily
isn’t always this way
clipping nails once lent dignity
insight-seeking, a catharsis in
letting go
but I already did that...
...yesterday
© 30 October 2008, I. D. Carswell
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