Process of Poetry

I am still editing. And it is difficult. I am still working on the critical component of my M Res, and compared to that, editing is a doddle. I don't know how to 'justify,' critically speaking, what I've written, or the ways in which I have written it. I am struggling to define my own personal ethic, in terms of writing, so that someone else can understand it, or at least have some sense of my process. But how can I explain something that I am only just beginning to trust and rely on myself? I know when I draft is 'done,' when I can't do any more to a piece of writing for the moment,  and I know when I am ready to work on it again, because my brain itches. Right now, my brain is so tired that the itching ain't happening. I have successfully titrated myself off of Pregabalin, which didn't work its promised magic on the pain, but I am not sleeping well, in part because I need to get writing done and I can't relax. I'll try to have a nap, and see if I can feel the itching in my head a bit more clearly after that.

Ode to Naproxen Sodium

I feel as though my life should be sponsored by Naproxen Sodium. Between an arthritis flare and the usual Dead Leg/ CRPS nonsense,  I am in excruciating pain and am so irritable even I think I'm being snarky. I am also extremely too sleep-deprived, and am losing my command of the English language, so if you were actually expecting an ode, you are going to be SERIOUSLY disappointed. This is all I've got, and I think it is probably more of a paean to coffee.

Naproxen Sodium

sounds so much more exciting 

than it is,

so much more important.

Caffeine is marvellous,

an antidote to exhaustion,

though the coffee that carries it

competes with Naproxen Sodium

for my stomach lining's attention.

See? Complete shite.