“A slump is a form of mass wasting …
over seconds to hundreds of years.” – Wikipedia
I once claimed I never get writer’s block,
spoke of dormant volcanos, hibernation, seasons, …
and then came this pause, a slump really,
a sudden loss of momentum.
The slump is a foggy slope,
a downhill slide…
One or two days without writing …
The cat meows a warning, the dog
jingles her tags waiting for a walk,
but I like the slump. It’s effortless, cozy
as a warm bed on a chilly morning.
My flows, topples, creeps and falls
require no earthquake shocks,
freezing or thawing, just the relentless
drip of gray, rainy winter days
or daily tides
undercutting the shore.
Is it a pothole or a bottomless pit?