Morning Mood

Morning Mood. I sit inside a massive white fog of nothingness and play on my imaginary piano, with one finger, a ditty: Sun outside…. sun inside… sun only sun. I feel massively and supremely untalented now that the amalgamation of writers, poets painters and dancer that were inside me have turned into an immovable block of zero. I look at a black dot ringed by a grey cloud, if I look long enough the cloud will disappear, only it doesn’t, instead the dot disappears and the cloud turns into an evil dervish. The amalgamation fragments and I sit in a rowing boat, on a green sea, watch as seagulls evaporate into a void. At last there is silence and I’m my vastly incompetent self,