tyre upon tarmac
wind upon my skin.
yours was just a soul that stopped
before it could begin.
I’ve spent the past five days moving into my term-time flat, and I’ve still got the rest of the weekend to attempt to finish doing so. I’m starting work again tomorrow (sorry, tonight), and stress is rolling off me in waves I cannot hope to control.
Needless to say, I haven’t had a lot of time to write- or do much of anything creative at all, but for a few sneaky moments between retiring to bed and falling asleep where I tend to sneak in a sketch or two.
This little lack-of-free-time issue of mine has lead to me try and scribble brief little poems in a minute or less.
There’s something both creepy and uncomfortable about the term ‘creative juices’, but, hey, whatever gets them flowing.
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- Image: Disposable camera photograph, taken on the way back from Cornbury Festival.