Valuation

No matter that I might want to write—or to have written—something profound or even moderately meaningful, I just cannot. There’s nothing consequential clawing to be released from the confines of my brain. Instead, only there’s only emptiness in search of a place to setttle wherever it can. Motion without motive or meaning.  These days have become such useless routines. At least they have no value; and they have no cost.