Thursday, August 15, 2013


Fuck you, blank page. I spit on your cleanliness with
these messy scribbles. I have no respect for
silence when so much longs to be spoken. Your serenity a
lie; absence not a peace. Your existence dares me – and far too
often I balk. You dominate me. You intimidate me. The choice you
present befuddles and taunts me. I run. Day and day again, I refuse
to walk my pen across this cloud and give purpose to sun’s
thatching light. My fist slides into muddy evolution – runny egg
afterbirth dripping through thin finger tickles. Deeper, resides

art, but alas my elbows are shallow.

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