Cotton Candy

Can I write a poem about nothing,

Drivel across the screen to no end?

Would that be bad?

Seriously, my head feels filled

With nothing more than the space

Between the fine thin strands

Of a swirl of cotton candy,

Or maybe the space inside a carbonated bubble,

Rising to the surface bursting,

Releasing microscopic particles

Of fragmented thought.

I’m sorry.

It’s all I've got this morning.