It’s
Wednesday again.
The Angel of
Poem
has not
disturbed
my Pool of
Siloam.
I just wait.
I can’t move my toes.
This is not
looking good.
I’m
paralysed with prose.
Some days
her wings
are on ice
but on
others
she comes
often: always nice.
I wonder
what leads
her to visit
at all – generous:
an exquisite
spirit?
All I want
is a few
lines for Class.
Come Angel.
Inspire.
Get me off
my ass.
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