some time ago
my finger bones grew too long to mock ellipses
but stopped short of mysterious
so I’m trapped
and my heart has hushed between my lungs
so I can concentrate a little more
on breathing
to say my blood is no longer steeped in ink
is wrong
because what truly blanks these pages
is not the absence of poetry
but the absence of folds
for hasty airplanes
I understand
that I don’t understand why
some time ago,
I stopped spinning
and the world stopped being
so beautiful
Author notes
I wonder if I really haven't grown. I wonder if I've really forgotten.
First (un)poem-ish drivel since last August. Sadly, I can barely vent that frustration.
I want to start moving again, but I hesitate to try. I'm so afraid that I can't anymore.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I can relate to the poem, the author's notes... everything. It's actually rather freaky.
Do keep writing.
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Thanks, I'm trying on that writing part, but I'm in a slump.
Ah, oh well. I'll have to catch up on reading your poetry. I hope I remember how to comment. eek!
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