I cannot write another love ballad.

The time has come and gone and I am no longer

Transfixed by the pull of your seedlings

and rolling banknotes.

I am concerned now by the explicit 

Nature by which you denied my right to

Write at all.

Waging silent wars long before I had the

Nerve to wage my own and by the time you

Waved your flag I had gathered my three-hunded.

I woke this morning and spread the last

One thousand four hundred and sixty days

Across my bedroom floor and felt an extraordinary

Nothingness at your expense.