Sometimes you have to separate
from your writing.
Treat it like a clingy lover;
put some distance
between yourself
and their morning breath.
Stick too close to it and
eventually the bad is all you’ll see.
But back up—watch
your writing saunter down the street.
Note how quickly the hounds come
for its curves and fertility.
Allow yourself to be
a little jealous.
You’ll quickly learn
to move past the trivialities,
to once again
see
the electric rawness that upturned
the mundane world and made it beautiful,
and then you’ll feel
a tightening in the hot loins
of your mind.