A poet’s worst case scenario?
Camena Interruptus
How icicles and blustering snow
thaw creative dopamine and flow through synaptic sludge!
My chilled fingers type as power lines
sag with icy plaque and a telephone pole’s
woody tibia fractures.
The birdbath—dense as asteroid ice.
Peering over my screen,
sleet scratches the picture window
as I sip microwaved tea
but in keying the poem’s climax, it—
and all following lines—vanishes, unsaved
as a blackout ends this very last li
Peter C. Venable 