Mrs. T's problem with our newspaper was that we had the capacity but not inclination
to write what she wanted in it. No, Ma'am, with all due respect there is not going to be any five stanza rhyming poem. No, Ma'am, sorry Ma’am.
When the final issue came through, she had her poem. What we gave her was
a little canoe
a piece of sky
Do you have long nights?
Do your lonely guts wrench with tears?
Do you find yourself retreating further into your nothingness?
GIVE US A CALL!
If you have had your midnights
And they have drenched your barren guts
I sing you sunrise
And someone to touch.
Here is the sound of a good mood: one voice chattering to none in response. Hello irritable flatmate. Hello delivery boy. Hey guys did I show you this that the other.
It is the sound of a voice desperately hoping the urge to cry will go away. It is talking so the quiet incomprehension transfers the guilt back to itself. It becomes the voice’s own fault for not explaining well. This voice is the sound of placing all blame one someone else’s oblivion. Talky talky talky, Hello look at this. (It is not a good mood, it is just firm resolve to try for one.)
If you want frustration I will give you a ceiling, a pen, and blank paper.