Document1

I’ll either climb and

burn

and look good

or maybe just

sit here

White page, black line

Blink

Mocking me

Blink

Reminders of a lacking skill

Words on a page

But:

Blink

I miss them

and that hurts

And Andrew is loud but

doesn’t know it

needs to be quiet

Sometimes I think too much

Can’t sleep

Can

It doesn’t really make a difference.

Things he

thinks but

Can’t say:

Sunsets used to

be beautiful

The most

beautiful

Blink

but then I met you

Sometimes it’s like that

Thoughts

comin-g-oing

Impossible to sort

or not wanting to be.

I try to take a picture

with a white sheet

and pen

But they weren’t there

So it’s not the same

and I’m not there

anymore

But mostly it’s

a Wall

Porous concrete

Cement hurts

when I run my hand over

And isn’t inclined to

Let me by

What am I supposed to do with that?

Hemingway says to put down

what you see

and feel

Well,

I see the Wall.

And all I really want

is a

Cigarette

or a

Chisel

But not both.

And that’s also what I feel

Blink

A white page:

Someone’s too loud or

Blink

I miss my hero or

She’s so beautiful that it hurts or

Blink

Sisyphus pushes white concrete which

is despairingly ironic

He climbs

Muscles burn to

reach the top

Every day. I

find this raises certain

questions

conjectures

whatever

About how

Blink