Tedious

Is there anything worse?

Feeling yourself fall flat,

all of your effort, your beautiful creation

becomes something

to be tolerated, an annoyance

rather than spectral gift,

awe and wonder missing their flight,

a sullen toddler taking one

of the empty seats, kicking

the back of yours,

all the way to Boston. You

imagine the eyeroll, the finding

of a place to put

this shit

that you labored over with

precision, scalpel in hand,

cutting away everything

that isn’t necessary,

missing the point

entirely.