Monday, March 8, 2010

At Long Last

I sit and stare at a blank page
the cursor, like my heart beating, blinks
I conduct the movements
but the words I do not
because what I say goes
and what I want to say, flows
reading and writing, growing up
as the world turns, and all that rubble
drama, that is, of a nasty sort
those that participate treat it as sport
but when the fun is done
they lick their wounds
and pick up their toys and go home
blinking, blinking, beating, beating
this isn't making any sense
or at least, that last sentence didn't
but why should I do all the talking?
it's my blog after all....
beating, blinking, beating, blinking...beating

1 comment:

Taylor said...

i'm really glad you're posting again. i hope you make a habit of it.