Whether

 

Bent in metamorphose

I held the desk like a casket

Mood, sombre

While in my stomach

A whirring knot

Stirred unselfconsciously

Any movement slight

Unbearably stilted

I felt the idea flow

Fraught within

The desperate acquisition

Of context, a poem

A moment of clarity

A scream

But instead I clutched

And bent longingly

At the abyss