Emptiness

Once in a while my brainpan looks alike a hackney carriage full of hackneyed clichés and tired words. In times like this, my psych advised the psycho to unharness wishes, to burn the carriage down, to make love to the imaginary charioteer and, having smoothly closed the above gestalt, to go for a walk. Oh, dear, how silent and empty are the streets! My head is silent and empty either. This emptiness miraculously treats a writer’s block. I feel how formless ether morphs into words again to give a birth to the entire world and this small verse.