The trees breathe
down in the garden
I pause my lungs
running on fumes
I want to work
but the world seems unconvinced
As I begin to speak
a howling sigh of wind
Snuffs out the spark 
of my feeble dream
I’m covered in cobwebs
in my waiting room…

A strange amorphous shape
swells and swallows
Even the vaguest sketch 
of hope I can muster
I can’t seem to shake 
this cloud magnetic
it clings to the edges 
of every troubled thought
I’m quickly chilled 
by the indefinite path ahead
I’m burning through cash
in my waiting room…

This haunted midnight lake
I row upon
A poisoned fog swirls
grows and consumes
My little boat
my lonesome vessel
I’d send up a flare 
but they’re sodden with sweat
There’s no rescue
beyond my burning arms
it keeps me toiling daily
in my waiting room…

I’ve forgotten friends’ voices
the shape of the moon
I’ve forgotten 
the hue of distant laughter
For how can I paint a sunrise 
or complete a poem
When my faith is twisted 
broken and bent double
I sit and rot and steam
I fizz with envy
Unable to think of more
in my waiting room…

Am I waiting to live
to die or for the interview
That will change my course 
most certainly 
Could I dare to think 
of fireworks, or gentle paws
Or sunlight on bare skin
or a healing cup of tea
The joy of beginning again 
in some new place
Dancing across the threshold 
of my waiting room…