Not feeling very inspired nor glib toward the blog these days.

Poetry seems distant.

I read novels, plan prose projects, play online chess (when I'm not working).

Hope poetry comes back (it may).

Perhaps I'm going through a long-term natural (d)(r)evolution.

Seems to be no "context" for what I've done or haven't done, in the neighborhood. (I'm sure this is a familiar feeling.)

The battlefield is empty. A field seething with wind & crickets.

Disconnected from EVERY scene (except yours).