A Slow Bore

These days

it seems

that my attempts

at writing

occur 

during bouts

of sleeplessness

or crapulence,

when the mind

is delusional

and the body

is exhausted,

when the heart

is heavy

and the bottle

is lighter

than it was

two hours ago.

Writing has become

a chore of sorts.

No longer

a gift

no longer

a hobby

but more

a bore

to me.

My fingers move

much slower 

these days.