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.