Crutch

No dream may suffice

in lieu of waking glances.

Still life holds love destitute,

such that dreams become vision,

the lie on which heart relies.

* Oh I do so loathe my stomach, at times, for all its troubles.

Forgive this poet’s absence this evening. The above is my submission for One Stop Poetry, and it may not be my best work, but it was produced under a day of food poisoning…which consequently is the same reason you may detect a noticeable disappearing act from me tonight. I’ll likely read as I can, but I’ve been keeping quite to bed today, and given how my stomach’s still acting, I don’t foresee that changing shortly.