Morning, afternoon, evening nothing,
nothing in details, nothing in pose or

great big lamentations on the internet
and rending of garments in T.J.Maxx,

nothing responses all to the tremendous
all of nothing.

But if nothing’s really nothing how
come it snowballs?

How come it feels like you're lying
when they ask what’s wrong

and you say

Ewen Glass (he/him) is a screenwriter and poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and a body of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared in the likes of Okay Donkey, Maudlin House, HAD, Poetry Scotland and One Art.

Bluesky/X/IG: @ewenglass